Remember, Purely Business
by SnowyZoe
Summary: 19 year-old Bonnibel, struggling with memory loss, finally lands a job as an intern at Nighto Incorporated. She's surprised to meet someone her own age there already high up the corporate ladder. But, there's something eerily familiar about the black-haired girl. Eventually Bubbline. AU, where only Abadeers have powers. T for now. [Being Re-written]
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

_I don't own any of Adventure Time._

 **Chapter 1: Prologue**

 _September 14th 2008_

"Hey, you two! Where are you going!?"

She ignored the officer as she ran through the doors, smoke fuming around her as she entered the skyscraper's lobby.

The heat of the flame and smoke in the lobby made her eyes water. It was hot inside. There was too much smoke already that it began filling her lungs. Without a second thought, Bonnibel continued walking through the smoke, hands covering her eyes and mouth, shielding from the smoke and ash spewing from the fires. Her head swirled as she became dizzy, feeling as if she could pass out at any second from the thin oxygen alone. But then a familiar hand grasped Bonnibel's just as she was about to fall over.

"Bonnie!"

Marceline's cry jolted Bonnie back to consciousness.

"Marcie! What are you doing? I said to wait outside!"

"It's too dangerous! You can't breathe in here! But I can!"

She had a point. The black smoke and dust were building up in Bonnie's lung's, causing her to cough up a clear mucous, whereas the vampire didn't have such an issue. Nonetheless, she had to find them.

"They're in here somewhere, Marcie!"

"I know, but let _me_ find them! I could fly up and get them!"

"You know you're not allowed to! Someone could _see_ you!"

Bonnie held the neck of her shirt up to her mouth, wetting it with spit which filtered some of the smoke out of her throat. Time was running out. What if it was too late? What if they're dead already? She didn't even know which floor her parents were on. They never talked about work. Maybe they did, but she never listened. She hated anything business-related. If Bonnie didn't know where they were, what hope did Marcie have in finding them?

As if reading Bonnie's mind, Marcie brought her hands up to Bonnie's cheeks.

"They'll make it out! Maybe they have already!" Marcie shouted, her voice becoming desperate as she began to tug Bonnie back to the entrance. "They wouldn't want you doing this!" Before Bonnie could protest, the sound of leather shoes had made it inside the lobby from the entrance.

"They ran in here! We need to get those kids out of here!" the police captain ordered, his voice slightly muffled, "Search the smoke!"

The uniformed men spread out, gas masks protecting them from the leaden smoke and heat.

Bonnie winced at the thought of abandoning her parents. Her instincts were telling her to leave. Maybe they did get out already? If she tried to find them, she would pass out for sure. Then she would lose Marceline who would undoubtedly try and save her. God, she hated her reasoning sometimes. With a woeful sigh, she had to follow her head.

"Okay..." she whispered to Marceline, unsure if she had even heard her as the vampire already began pulling them back to the entrance.

"Sir! I think I heard them that way!" an officer yelled over his shoulder, pointing vaguely in Marceline's direction.

"Good! Find them and get them out of here! HQ says the tower's going to-"

Before the captain could finish, a rumble shook the earth beneath them. The building's steel beams echoed and screeched throughout the lobby as the ceiling began to collapse. Brick and cement hailed onto the captain, knocking him flat onto the floor, cracking the brim of his mask as he lay eerily still.

Marceline's stomach lurched as she saw what happened.

Bonnie, unaware of the captain's fate, held onto Marceline as the tremors showed no signs of stopping. She was terrified, stumbling with Marceline as they headed towards the entrance.

Steel cracked and moaned under the weight of the building, dry wall rained, bricks hailed from above. It was then that Marceline used her vision to see through the smoke and saw that debris had already blocked the way they had come in.

Bonnie, confused to as to why Marceline stopped, opened her mouth to say something. In that moment, a stray brick from the ceiling struck the back of Bonnie's skull, and her body suddenly felt limp.

"Ughh…"

Dark viscous blood dripped out of her scalp that left a trail of droplets on the floor as Marceline turned when she felt Bonnie's grip loosen.

"Bonnieeee!" Marceline screamed, seeing the wound the falling brick had made. She swiftly held onto Bonnie before she could fall over, praying that the ginger child was okay.

With the entrance blocked and Bonnie losing consciousness, Marceline was out of options. She disregarded the need for discretion as she flung Bonnie over her shoulder and flew upwards at the window directly above the entrance.

Marceline was still young. Same age as Bonnie. Her powers weren't fully developed yet as she had only started using them a few months ago. She knew her flight could only last a short time before it physically drained her. Even worse was that the sun was still up. Even with this knowledge, her path to the window didn't falter.

Twelve-year-old Bonnie felt the smoke quickly dissipate from the front of her face only to be replaced with the feeling of glass as Marceline burst through the window. The taste of smoke and ash was gone to be replaced with cool air and the metallic taste of her own blood.

The pair broke through the window and fell at least ten feet before rolling to a stop onto the street pavement.

The cries of the officers could be heard a few moments later when the lobby of Sphere Corp's building finally caved in, tipping the scale in the direction for the building's total collapse.

The emergency workers outside could do nothing but watch as smoke plumed out of the lobby and listen to the struggled cries of their co-workers inside.

Recovering quickly from the fall, Marceline heaved herself up off the cold street, her body's exhaustion amplified from sudden contact with the midday sunlight. Her legs were fatigued, yet she still managed to limp over to Bonnibel who lay on her side with eyes half-open.

"Bonnie! Can you hear me!?" Marceline shouted with the little energy she had left, tears pricking her eyes as she cradled Bonnie's head with her knees.

The ginger child fought to keep her eyes open as she watched her best friend plea for help. She looked into her best friend's eyes, tears clouding their viridescence. At this moment, Bonnie could think of nothing but how beautiful Marcie looked. Her jet-black hair was so close to Bonnie's face, frizzled from her short flight, the sound of her voice soothing the pain of a million needles coming from the back of her head.

"Somebody help me!" Marceline cried, yelling to the emergency workers who had already begun running away from the collapsing building.

With no-one to help, Marceline had no choice. This was meant for the direst of situations only. She reached for the silver necklace around her heck which held a small vial of her own blood and with a sharp tug, pulled it off her neck. Raising the vial above her head, Marceline shattered it on the nearby pavement and chanted words Bonnie could barely hear.

Her vision began to fade. Time was short before she lost consciousness but she was content knowing that Marceline was okay. Mama and Papa had to be fine too.

Because nothing else could have happened to them.

That's what happens in Papa's stories. Happy endings.

Her shoulders relaxed as her head rolled back and her eyes quivered closed. The last she heard was her best friend screaming her name.

"BONNIBELLL!"

Then all became cold.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Hey all. This is my first AT fanfic and hope that it will satisfy you. Be warned though, I plan on making this a slow-burning long story. - _SnowyZoe_**


	2. Chapter 2

_I don't own any of Adventure Time._

 **Chapter 2**

 _February 4th 2016_

Bonnibel's slender fingers cramped for the sixth time that night as she continued tapping at her keyboard. She winced as the sharp pain shot up from the ends of her fingertips and up her palm. This came as no surprise since she had been glued to her swivel chair since seven in the morning, trying to flatten the mountain beside her that was her to-do pile.

 _Gah! Not again..._

Her dark ginger hair was ruffled, frizzy from the lack of care it had been getting, falling from the crown of her head down to the middle of her backside which was laced with a white-button up shirt that matched her plain black pencil skirt.

She lifted her arm over the small plywood desk with a sigh, reaching for the cream which had almost reached its end. She rolled the tube up to squeeze the last bits out; a frugal habit. She massaged the cream into her left palm, the repetitive motion itself reminding her of the work that needed to be done. She turned her gaze back onto the monitor inside her little cubicle.

 _How does he expect me to finish this overnight?_

The quarter moon shined a pale white through Bonnibel's window on the fourth floor at Nighto Inc.'s skyscraper. The light casting a shadow from the faded plant on her windowsill to the dark bags under her eyes. The moonlight was brighter than the flimsy lamp Nighto gave to their employees below the 15th floor.

Bonnibel's keyboard prevented a silence that would have her again question her decision to work here. It was only her first week here and her boss, Lenon Garb, had again asked her to stay back to finish off last quarter's sales report for the entire floor. It wasn't her fault that it wasn't done, it wasn't even her responsibility. But apparently newbies have to endure Garb's ordering as some sort of initiation. It wasn't anything formal, just Garb's way of making himself feel superior.

But an internship at Nighto Inc. was such a rare opportunity. The number of candidates applying for the one spot per year reached the thousands. Bonnibel's grades were even good enough to have her start on the fourth floor. She couldn't imagine the torment of those below her. If she refused Lenon's orders, who's to say he won't just find a replacement?

Who was she compared to someone just as smart as her?

Who would want a nineteen-year-old college dropout as an employee?

Who was she before this job, before high school, before… _she lost her memory_?

 _No. Not this again. Work. Just work._

Bonnibel's eyes became fixed at the bottom of her mug, an attempt at derailing her train of thought. The dark stains deposited at the bottom hinting at how long she hadn't washed the thing and the startling amounts of caffeine she had consumed that day. The coffee in the break room was hers so she was damn well entitled to as much as she wanted. It was another stupid way of initiating the new girl, having to be the coffee-bringer for the whole floor. As petty revenge, she did get the cheap instant stuff. Plus, it was pretty much all she could afford; but she didn't want her co-workers to know that.

Bonnibel glanced at the time on her desktop.

 _12:06 AM.._

The night was still young. Or was it the morning? One or other. Caffeine constricted her veins, pulsing through them as they prevented Bonnibel's drowsiness for at least another few , coffee could only do so much until one became sensitised to its miraculous effects of keeping one awake. The temptation of sleep engulfed Bonnibel as she indulged herself, laying her head down onto her desk, the back of her soft hands lacing over one another to act as a make-shift cushion.

 _Just a quick nap. Nothing serious._

A few seconds passed.

Seconds turned to minutes.

Minutes became hours.

Another arduous day had taken its toll on Bonnibel, sapping the life out of her, worsened by the thoughts of another possible day exactly like this in the near future. It depended on Lenon's mood for that day. But for now, rest was all she needed and all she wanted. The sweet embrace of shut-eye that had eluded her grasp for nearly a week now.

But the beauty of sleep could only last so long.

Bonnibel shot up from her chair, all the air escaping her chest cavity as her eyes tried readjusting to the surrounding dark, her hair dangling in front of her face, further blocking her sight. After blowing the strands out of her face and rubbing her eyes gently, she regained her composure. Well… sort of.

"Ah, no!" She exclaimed to herself quietly, despite being the only person on the floor at this hour. "Time!? What's the _time_!?". Bonnibel shook her mouse, awakening her monitor from its own light sleep.

 _4:02 AM.._

"Guuhhh..." she moaned as she sank back into her chair, the sound more befitting a zombie.

"Damn you, Lenon you… _you_ …" Bonnibel began, straining to a think of a swear she might've picked up from high school.

"… rhomboid."

It was the best she could come up with.

 _*Ding!*_

Bonnie's less than flattering thoughts of Lenon were interrupted by the chiming of the elevator, the sound indicative of the elevator's arrival to the fourth floor.

 _What the… was that the elevator?_

 _Who else would be here so late?_

Bonnibel stood up from her cubicle, glancing behind her to try and make out who would ever be here as late as her. The 70 feet or so to the elevator coupled with the morning dark made it hard to see who it was. The crestfallen moonlight had shifted too far during Bonnibel's slumber, making it so that she could only see the inside of her cubicle. Only the elevator's faint fluorescent light leaking out of the doorway confirm to Bonnie that someone was indeed there.

However, Bonnie was more unnerved by the fact that they simply stood inside the elevator, unmoving with the doors wide open.

 _Maybe they're lost?_

Bonnie though, trying to rationalise a possible reason for the stranger's appearance.

 _Yeah… lost at 4AM on a weekday. Good one, Bonnie._

Bonnibel was just about to call out to the mysterious individual, asking if they were indeed lost, but the stranger's sudden footsteps stopped her.

They were slow. Methodical. Calculated. There could have been a metronome in the room if Bonnie hadn't seen that the stranger had moved. Their gait sounded… effortful. Their steps resonating an awareness that Bonnibel was listening intently.

Footsteps became heavier as they descended further into the floor, a nice change of pace actually from the constant drone of keyboard clacking coming from Bonnie's cubicle.

 _Meh, probably the cleaner._

 _But…_

 _They usually come later in the morning._

 _Could it be Lenon!? Who else could have a key pass at this hour!?_

But in her first week at Nighto Inc., Bonnibel had _never_ seen anyone else after hours.

Bonnibel sat back down, swivelling her chair around as she began typing on her keyboard, feigning disinterest to whoever was only a few cubicles away from her. She wasn't frightened, she was just too exhausted to make introductions with a possible fellow nocturnal worker. Hopefully, they'll get the gist and leave her alone. Alas, the footstep's volume only got progressively louder.

Bonnie tried to outline the stranger through her monitor's reflection. But it was pitch black, the floor environment absorbing all light whatsoever, which also begged the question…

 _How does this person know where to walk in the dark!?_

Before she could think of a reason herself, the stranger's footsteps came to a halt. Right behind Bonnie's chair. They were so close to one another that Bonnie couldn't even make out their reflection on her monitor, her own torso blocking her view.

It was uncannily silent for at least half a minute, as if unspoken words were being exchanged between two.

"Hey. You." The voice spoke, breaking the silence.

They sounded… feminine? Young too.

Without turning around, Bonnibel replied as kindly as she could, "Yes? How may I help you?"

Bonnie couldn't help but notice the stranger's reflection stiffened slightly, as if irritated with her response.

"Day's over. Why're you still here? Fourth floorers don't get key passes."

There was no mistaking it this time, the stranger was a woman. Bonnibel's shoulders relaxed a bit at the thought.

 _At least it's not some pervert._

"I was told to complete some extra work by Mr. Garb. He expects it by tomorrow morning so I decided to stay back."

"Really now?"

"Yep."

A few moments passed. The newcomer said nothing, as if in thought. The clacking of Bonnibel's keyboard prevented a complete silence.

The woman finally spoke again, "That's it? You're not going to tell me your name or what? No-one ever teach you proper manners?"

 _Yeesh_. This person sounded like a high-floorer. That or she's got a major superiority complex. For the sake of formalities, Bonnibel replied, "Bonnibel Beesley, Intern, fourth floor. I started this week. And who might you be?"

Bonnibel could've sworn the stranger hissed under their breath, noticing that they had crossed their arms in the monitor's reflection.

"Name's not important, what's important is that _I'm_ upstairs to _you_ ," the woman said, jabbing her index finger into the back of Bonnie's chair, "and that you should turn around when you're talking to someone above you."

 _Oh lord. Another Lenon? Pleaaaseee. I do not need this right now._

Sighing, Bonnibel swivelled her chair around, surprised at what she saw.

The woman's hip-length hair was a pitch black which blended softly into the surrounding darkness, her eyes an emerald-green intensified by a thin streak of eyeliner, her face a pale tone that just exuberated youth.

 _Is she the same age as me? And what's up with that outfit!?_

The plain white tank top under the woman's open red flannel jacket fit the curves on her body, emphasising her toned chest and slim body. Complementing this were her knee-ripped denim jeans, going down ankle-length to her black converse sneakers.

…

 _Casual was on Fridays, no?_

The woman was eyeing Bonnibel up and down too, a strange expression forming on her face when their eyes met.

"Um… you _do_ work here right?" Bonnibel asked.

"Yeah, bet you're only wondering that just because of what I'm wearing. Not everyone's got to wear that fancy crap," the stranger retorted, pointing at Bonnibel's skirt.

Trying to not sound too annoyed at the stranger's tone, Bonnibel said, "Uh, no. It's just that you look awfully young. Are you a high-achievement academic intern as well?"

It wasn't completely out of the question; this person seemed much too young to be Bonnie's boss. The highest floor an intern could land was the fifth so technically she could be above her.

"High-achieve-what? Oh…" the woman said with a sudden apparent distaste in her voice. "You must be that new chick we hired. The _smart_ one," she said, pulling air quotes with her fingers. "Well just so you know, no, I'm not one of those. I'm a bit more… senior than that."

 _Higher up than that? Geez, who is this girl?_

"Okay, well that's fine," Bonnie replied, slightly hurt that the person standing in front of her could be her boss. "Could you answer me one thing?"

"What?"

"I told you why I'm here so late. Why are _you_ here?"

The black-haired woman took a step back, an unnatural look in her eyes as she turned away from Bonnibel's gaze. It was a few moments before she spoke back.

"To work," she responded.

An obvious lie.

She spun around and headed back towards the elevator, leaving Bonnibel alone in her cubicle cell, not wanting to hear her pry further with incessant questioning.

Bonnibel stood up from her chair, looking into the darkness to which the footsteps sounds emanated from. She waited for the elevator chime that would indicate her unexpected guest's departure.

 _*Ding!*_

Bonnibel could see the elevator's dim yellow light seep into the floor as the doors opened. The woman stepped through, but stopped halfway before shifting her gaze to Bonnibel.

"Hey," she called out across the floor.

"Does Lenon make you do this often? Stay back and do extra stuff?"

Bonnibel was taken aback, confused by the question.

' _Why do you care?'_ she wanted to say.

But instead of speaking the first words that came to her head, she responded with only a small nod in the elevator's direction.

"I see…" the black-haired woman acknowledged. "Any issues with it so far, Bonnie?"

Bonnibel tensed up, her heart spiking a bit. Not many people called her that. Only her friends and her Uncle; Sam. She shook it out of her head before the stranger could notice her rigidness.

 _Yes, I do! How does he expect me, the new girl, to do half the floor's work!?_ _It's only my first week!_

But she kept it to herself. If this person really was her above her, she had to make a good impression and pretend that workloads like this were nothing for her.

"It's fine. I'm happy to help out," Bonnie replied, the marks under her eyes giving away the poor lie. "Also, it's Bonnibel. Not Bonnie."

The other girl simply stared at Bonnibel before giving a slight nod.

"Right, sure."

The flannel dressed woman stepped into the elevator, pushed her floor number, and continued staring at the ginger as the doors slid shut. A soft whirring hummed throughout the floor as Bonnie watched the light of the elevator go upwards, suggesting to her that her guest was indeed on a floor above her.

If she really was another boss of hers, then Bonnie had gotten the same impression from every other one so far.

She did not like her… at all.

 _Right?_

* * *

 **A/N:** **Yay! First chapter done. I'm trying to fit a regular update schedule in, although my friend gifted me this game called Overwatch which I've been playing recently. Again, I love reviews so don't hesitate to post. - _SnowyZoe_**


	3. Chapter 3

_I don't own Adventure Time, unfortunately._

 **Chapter 3**

 _February 5_ _th_ _2016_

 _Fuck._

Marceline backed into the stainless steel wall of the elevator, sliding down its length until she sat onto the cold tile floor with a _thud_. Absentmindedly, she stared at the red digits above the elevator doors as they rose at a steady pace.

The generic elevator music played its typical tune, helping Marceline drown out her thoughts of a conversation she had a few minutes earlier. But the thoughts of the redhead girl couldn't be rid of.

 _Really? You haven't seen her in forever. And what's the first thing you say? 'Hey, you?' What is wrong with you? You even called her Bonnie! Moron._

She buried her face into her hands, her knees supporting the weight of her chin as she winced at the words that had come out of her mouth only a few minutes before.

 _Well. It's not like I could've said: 'Hey Bonnie, it's me Marcie. Your best friend, remember? You almost died and forgot me but it's all good now. P.S: I'm a vampire.'_

Yeah.

That would've went _really_ well.

 _Is she even the same..?_

 _And what the hell is that bastard Lenon doing to her?_

A strange feeling welled up inside Marceline as she recalled how worn out Bonnie looked.

Marceline let out a long exhale as she grasped the silver hand railings, hoisting herself back onto her feet. She had almost spent a whole day without using her legs; walking was just a formality at this point. To not make others question the physics of the universe they lived in. She let go of the railing as her legs drifted into the air, levitating a few inches above the tiled floor.

It wasn't that she disliked walking, just that it had become an ingrain habit to just hover everywhere. Her dad didn't like it one bit though. Apparently it wouldn't reflect a good image on the company if someone saw her flying around. But then again, she didn't care what _he_ thought.

The elevator began to slow down as Marceline neared her floor.

 _*Ding!*_

The doors spread apart, revealing a small square office that couldn't have been wider than 10 feet. Furnishing the room was a standard executive desk with a single black leather chair behind it. Marceline floated towards the other side of the room where another door waited, her real destination. Upon opening it, the familiar smell of her abode instantly greeted her.

Marceline wouldn't call the 149th floor an office - it was nowhere near. She convinced her father to have the place renovated years ago into a loft. She told him it would 'improve her productivity' by living at Nighto, that living where she worked would make her more productive.

 _Hah._

Dad would believe anything that made him think Marceline had interest in the company.

It wasn't a bad place either; equipped with a full kitchen, bathroom and living room. She even had the luxury of her own sound-proof recording studio where she could do what she did best: record her music.

 _And none of this business shit._

The open design of the place also let her fly around quite easily, evident by the layers of dust on the stairway and floor. The only remnant of the old place was the small room directly outside the elevator, a structural necessity apparently.

Floating into her sanctuary, Marceline headed straight for the shower. Halogen lights blinked on as she entered, easing her eyes a bit from the strain of seeing through the dark a while back.

 _Shit. Would she have noticed that? Ughhh. Stupid._

She undressed, her clothes falling into a heap on the floor. Turning the hot water on, the gentle patter of droplets landing onto the shower's marble tiles soothed her ears. She drifted into the shower's light waterfall. Her hair stuck to her body as it became saturated, the contrast between it and her pale skin clear as night and day. It wasn't long before she thought of Bonnie again.

 _What the hell can I do?_

Nothing, apparently. She had to uphold the promise she made to her father. All those years ago.

 _But she's right here! I literally talked to her!_

It was a twisted game her father was playing. It just felt so unfair to Marceline.

Marceline's head made a thump as it rested against the glass wall of the shower, warm water streaming down the nape of her neck. She closed her eyes, contemplating her situation. Her head flicked off the glass as she formed an idea.

 _Fine._

She shut off the water, quickly drying herself with a towel before donning the clothes she had dropped moments before. She flew into the kitchen where her laptop sat idly on the kitchen island. Wasting little time, she flung the thing open and brought up her e-mail.

 _Let's see what Garb thinks about this._

Her fingers tapped the membrane keys of the laptop softly as she composed the e-mail, occasionally stopping to think of how to make the thing sound professional. It's been a while since she'd had to put up a businesslike demeanour.

An hour had passed before Marceline struck the enter key, sending her message to its haughty recipients. The laptop's lid snapped close as she let out a satisfied sigh.

A yawn escaped her lips, reminding her that morning was just around the corner and thus so was the dreaded sun. Floating upwards past the interior balcony, she hovered over to her bed, being careful to avoid the linen canopy surrounding it. Her hair fell onto the pillow as she hovered inches above the bed's surface, memories of a certain girl flashed her mind before sleep finally snatched her away.

* * *

As morning finally arrived, Bonnibel waited in the printing room for Garb's report to finish printing. The rhythmic buzz of the printer itself sounded like a lullaby as she hadn't slept since her encounter with the other girl hours before. Their conversation was still fresh in Bonnie's mind.

 _How can they let someone with that sort of attitude work here?_

As the final page finished printing, Bonnie couldn't help but feel a little satisfied as she clipped the page's corner with a staple. Another job well-done. Hopefully that's what Garb thought too. She strode down the office corridor, acknowledging the standard greetings from her well-rested co-workers.

"Morning Bonnibel, how's it going?" they would ask, a mandatory smile plastered across their faces.

 _Like I'm drowning in air._

"Fine, thank you," Bonnie would respond, giving them a civil smile of her own.

It wasn't until she saw Garb walking towards his office did she fully focus on what she was doing. With the blasted report in hand, she walked up to Garb who had a sourer glare than usual.

"Good morning Mr. Garb," Bonnie greeted, presenting the report to the taller man. "Here's that report you want-"

" _What_ do you think you're playing at?" Garb snarled loudly, snatching the report out of Bonnie's hands.

Bonnie stepped back, perturbed by the man's sudden outburst.

"I-I'm sorry but isn't this what you asked me to do last night?"

"I'm not talking about _this_ , you harlot," Garb growled, smacking the report against the wall, creasing the product of Bonnie's all-nighter. She couldn't help but wince, feeling a little hurt.

"I-I don't understand, sir," Bonnie uttered, her voice falling to almost a whisper.

 _What the hell is he on about!?_

" _Don't_ play coy with me," Garb sputtered, his voice becoming louder.

Bonnie desperately looked around her, her heart pounding in her chest, hoping for someone to intervene. All she got in return were the plastic looks of her co-workers, curious as to why the new girl was getting a rant from Garb. Noticing the stares as well, Garb leaned forward next to Bonnie's ear, the man's breath a pungent odour.

"You're lucky I can't fire you right here and now," Garb uttered, his hands clenched into fists. "Because believe me… I would."

Bonnie could do nothing but nod excessively in return, hoping that it would be enough for the old brute to leave her be. After huffing another snarl, Garb trudged to his office, leaving Bonnibel wide-eyed at what had just occurred. She stood frozen for a while, processing what had just happened. Looking around again, her co-workers were doing their own thing again, pretending as if nothing had happened. It wasn't until she heard a pair of familiar voices behind her did her shoulders relax a bit.

"Yo, Bonnie!"

Bonnie turned around, shifting her gaze in the direction to the sound of her name. She could see two men briskly walking towards her.

Finn and Jake Mertens. 24 year-old brothers in the IT department. Bonnie met them her first day when she brought her phone into their office for a fix. Apparently those 'cleaner' apps she installed were nothing but malware. Typical. She got along with the brothers well but wouldn't quite call them friends - despite their over-friendly nature. They were only doing their job after all. You couldn't be sure if someone was friendly here simply because they have to work with you. No-one likes office drama after all.

"Holy heck," Finn began, his voice a low murmur when he reached Bonnie, eyeing Garb as he routed to his office. "I knew he'd be mad but _geez,_ not like that."

"Yeah, you alright Bonnie?" Jake asked, a genuine look of concern on his face.

 _No. What the dill was that?_

"I'm fine…" Bonnie fibbed, her lips pressed together tightly. "Just… what was that?"

"Woah, woah," the blonde brother started, waving his hands in front of him. "You can drop the act with us, Bonnie. We're cool with what you did. The old jerk-wad deserved it anyway."

"Yeah, glad someone finally stood up to his browbeating. Hated when he pulled that junk on the newer peeps," Jake commented.

Bonnie darted her eyes between the brothers, her puzzled look having not changed.

 _Is this some sort of ill-thought out joke?_

The two men were obviously waiting for a confession of sorts. A confession that they wouldn't receive because Bonnie had nothing to confess.

"What?" Bonnie said, raising her hands in front of her. "I didn't do anything."

The brothers looked at one another, the blonde one's eyebrow slanted slightly. "You saying you didn't rat the old man out?" Finn asked, giving Bonnie a suspicious look.

"What? Rat him out? About what?"

It was Jake's turn to tilt his brow as he seemed to stare at Bonnie for what felt like ages before huddling with his brother to whisper something. The two nodded at one another before turning back to Bonnie.

"Alright," Jake said. "Come on down to our office, we'll show you."

"Okay..?" Bonnie agreed, an unsure feeling in her chest.

The pair took Bonnie to the IT office on the floor, being careful navigate the longer route in order to avoid Garb's office. Wouldn't want to get another dose of… _whatever_ that was. When they entered the men's office, Bonnie couldn't help but admire their workplace. Two large mahogany tables were positioned opposite one another, each with multiple monitors bracketed together to make up a large display. It was the sort of stuff you'd expect on the trading floor of the London Stock Exchange.

 _The perks of being an IT administrator, I suppose._

"Here, we'll show it on mine," Finn said.

The trio gathered around the leftmost table, the brothers offering the single seat behind it to Bonnie to which she gladly took, an uncertain look remained on her face.

"Alright, let's see here…" Finn began, moving windows and tabs across the screens that made it a complete blur to Bonnie. Windows popped up and closed until he full screened what looked to be an e-mail of sorts.

"So earlier this morning, Jake and I had to approve this e-mail that was being sent from the top to all the floor managers."

"Yeah, standard stuff. Wouldn't want a virus getting into all the manager's computers now. No-one would have to come in for a while!"

 _I would be fine with that._ "Okay… so what does this have to do with me?" Bonnie inquired.

"Well, see for yourself," Finn said, pointing a finger at the screen.

Bonnie gave a curious glance at the brothers across her shoulders before focussing her attention on the e-mail in front of her.

 _TO: Nighto Incorporated Floor Managers,  
FROM: Executive Management_

 _It has come to my attention that certain floor managers have been forcing newer staff members to work well beyond normal operating time. This is clearly against company policy. As a result, all floor managers are to attend compulsory re-training with HR on floor 60 at 11AM this morning. Violations include section 21(d) on worker management, 22(f) on time resource allocation…_

Bonnie skipped the rest. Given the amount of sleep she's had, she would rather not read coma-inducing company policy citations. She got the gist of it anyway.

 _So. That's why he went nuts._

The old codger had to attend some sort of re-training because someone upstairs found out he was forcing her to work late. And he obviously thought she was the one who told them. Bonnie couldn't blame the man. She was the only newbie she knew of that had to endure his trials. Surely there were others, though?

"…So this is what you meant by ratting him out," Bonnie confirmed.

"We were sure it was you since… well… you're the only person he's been pushing around," Jake croaked, a hint of guilt in his voice. "Sorry about that, for being the new girl and all."

"It's fine. There's nothing you can do about me being new," Bonnie said, her expression easing a bit at Jake's apology.

"Thanks," Jake smiled. "Lucky for you too, eh?"

"Hmm? Lucky?"

"Heh - I thought the high-academic intern would read it all the way through," Jake commented, letting out a chuckle. "You're getting the next couple workdays off!"

 _Wait, what?_

Attempting to contain her newfound excitement, Bonnie quickly looked back at the e-mail, scrolling the mouse wheel, scanning for any mention of time off from her cubicle prison.

… _all overtimed staff are to take 2 business days off with full pay. We apologise that this issue had not been brought up earlier…_

Bonnie's mouth curled up into a relieved smile, a bit of stress having left her body. 2 days off? It would definitely do her some good considering she had a week's worth of sleep to catch up on.

"Well, that's nice," Bonnie said, faking her nonchalance the best she could.

"Good news? That's awesome news! Jake and I would do anything for a few days off! People here don't realise that restarting their computer solves like half their problems. Then again… we get to keep our jobs that way."

"Yeah, good for you Bonnie. You deserve it after all, for having to put up with the old man," Jake said.

"Mhmm," Bonnie nodded in agreeance. "This explains why Garb was so mad. But... since it wasn't me that told upper, who was it?"

The two brothers went silent for a few moments, considering Bonnie's words, Finn placing his fingers on his chin whilst Jake just had a neutral expression. If they were thinking of a culprit, they had a better chance than Bonnie since they'd been at Nighto a couple of years already.

 _Wait._

The quiet dragged out enough for Bonnie to deliberate the possible third party.

 _It couldn't have been… her?_

Bonnie swivelled around in her chair, the brothers looking at her expectantly.

"Last night…" _Well,_ t _echnically this morning._ "There was this girl that came onto the floor when I was the only one here," Bonnie began.

"Okay, so?" Finn asked, still stroking his chin in thought.

"Long story short, she asked me what I was doing here so late... So I told her Garb usually makes me do the floor's work after-hours."

The brothers were listening intently now, Finn's hand paused on his chin upon hearing Bonnie's words whilst Jake just nodded.

"She said she was working upstairs too," Bonnie said, now looking down at her lap. "I'm pretty sure she has something to do with it."

"Hmm… that's a thin lead at best. What'd she look like?" Jake asked, musing the possibility that the perpetrator was the girl. "Finn and I have been to almost every floor pretty much to fix everyone's junk. We know half the company by heart. Maybe we know her?"

"Black hair. My height," Bonnie replied, recalling the woman's appearance with ease. It was clear that the brothers hadn't received an epiphany to the identity of the woman yet. She had to be more specific "Around my age, actually. That was a bit surprising. Casual-wear. Like, tank-top sneakers casual. She also had a bit of an attitude." _A pretentious one at that._

At the sound of Bonnie's last word, Jake put his hand up, stopping Bonnie from describing the woman any further.

"Hold up."

Jake turned his gaze to his brother, the two of them sharing a knowing look of sorts.

"Black hair? Your age? Attitude?" Jake asked, to which Bonnie just nodded in return to each of his descriptions.

"She have a flannel jacket too? A bit pale?"

Bonnie's eyes went wide.

"Yeah, how'd you-"

"Bonnie! Do you realise who that was!?" Finn blurted out, almost grabbing Bonnie by the shoulders.

"Dude, she's been here less than a week. Doubt she knows the people or the drama that happens around here," Jake said, resting a hand on Finn's shoulder.

"Oh… right, yeah."

"But you're right anyway – what would _she_ be doing down here? She barely does anything here… despite her title," Jake pondered. "We were a bit surprised that she even wrote that e-mail in the first place."

 _Wait, what._

"The girl that I saw… did you just say she wrote this e-mail?" Bonnie asked.

"Well, yeah. When you work here for a bit, everyone knows _her,_ " Jake answered.

"Oh boy, I thought the whole place was going to go broke when they told us the prez was going overseas," Finn said.

"Me too, bro. She's barely done anything for Nighto. So what's up with the sudden interest in meeting interns…" Jake said, pointing to Bonnie. "… and making changes to management?"

Bonnie could only listen as the two brothers continued bickering back and forth, trying to come up with an explanation as to why the _girl_ came down to the fourth floor. Bonnie was tempted to interject, still out of the loop as to who the brothers were talking about. She figured she could find out another way, however.

Turning back to the e-mail, she scrolled to the very bottom of it, hoping that the author of it had left a signature.

They did.

When Bonnie read the bottom of the e-mail, her confusion was only amplified ten-fold. It couldn't have been right. Someone her age? No way. Because at the bottom of the e-mail, it was written:

 _Sincerely,_

 _Vice-President;_ _ **Marceline Abadeer**_ _._

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter was touched up a bit from an older version, no change in content though. I need a beta :(. Thanks for reading up to this point ^^ - _SnowyZoe_**


	4. Chapter 4

_Sadly, I don't own Adventure Time._

 **Chapter 4**

 _February 5_ _th_ _2016_

Bonnibel dropped onto the linen bus seat, having the courtesy to leave the seat next to her empty despite her overwhelming want to just lie down. When you haven't had a proper sleep in over a day, manners would be the least of your priorities. Leaning her forehead on the window, Bonnibel stared blankly at the scenery that passed by. The streets of Bathurst City were bustling with their normal afternoon clutter: drivers taking the commute home, students beginning their end-of-week binge, street performers conducting their niche acts. The juddering of the bus's windowpane mimicked its sputtering motor, the feeling of which was oddly massaging as Bonnie collected her thoughts.

 _Abadeer._

The entirety of Bathurst city knew the family surname. Deceptive entrepreneurs, ambitious tycoons, leaders to a dynastic corporation, all adequately describing them. Since the origins of Nighto Incorporated in the late 1500s, the Abadeers have always had a foothold in world economics, with power rivalling that of the East India Trading Company before it became vestigial. Generation after generation, they pursued power in both financial and political environments with family members succeeding one another in an abiding cycle.

Bonnie brushed her skirt pocket, digging out her phone. Simply typing 'Ab' was enough for Google to autocomplete her inquisition into the family's Wikipedia page. Bonnie glazed over the article, ignoring the constant mentions to the sizableness of the Abadeer fortune. With money like that, Bonnie could finally put herself through college… a thousand times over.

Her eyes paused when she reached the family overview. Lo and behold, there was a Marceline Abadeer. A small frown appeared on Bonnie's face, slightly disappointed that a hyperlink on Marceline's name didn't exist.

 _Could've at least been a photo._

But then again, the Abadeers weren't really much for publicity. The general public barely knew their faces; only the name that they carried. They communicated through subordinates whenever it involved meeting the public. Whether it was due to the time constraint of managing a multi-billion dollar company or disgust for the general public, no-one really knew.

Finn and Jake had been kind of enough to inform Bonnie of the company gossip. Apparently the president, Hunson Abadeer, was away in Dubai negotiating contracts with the Sheikh, Mohammed. Meanwhile, Marceline - the 19-year old vice-president - was left in charge of home operations in Bathurst. Rumours were that the girl was inept at managing the corporation that encompassed finance, real estate, mining and energy. Well. No surprise there. Despite her own prowess, Bonnibel doubted that even she could take on such a monumental task.

Finn and Jake said that the e-mail Marceline had sent was the only thing she had done since filling in for her father. As a result, a question still lingered on Bonnie's mind.

 _Did she try to help me?_

 _Try_ was the important word. It felt as if Garb had placed a vendetta on Bonnibel after his humiliation. So if helping was Marceline's intent, it certainly backfired a bit. But… no. She wouldn't be helping a random intern on the fourth floor by putting Bonnie's supervisor to shame. Maybe it was something else.

 _Maybe the two had beef with each other…_

More likely. Everyone had something of Garb to quarrel about. Whether it was his appearance, demeanour or authoritarian approach to management. Bonnibel's first impression of Marceline was also enough to justify her reasoning that the girl had to have some adversaries. Maybe the vice-prez was searching for an excuse to provoke the man, and Bonnibel's work schedule was the perfect ammunition. But…

 _What if she really did just want to help me?_

… No. Doubtful. Maybe out of pity; but nothing else. She did give Bonnie a longer weekend, however. Perhaps _that_ was the pity.

The familiar sight of Bonnibel's bus stop broke her thoughts, aware that the bus journey was over. Dragging herself out of the seat, she stepped off the bus, thanking the driver on her way. A cool breeze greeted her along with the soft coos of the pigeons nesting in the nearby tree; a welcome change from the staleness of an office. Bonnibel tread along the sidewalk, only a few minutes away from her home in the city district.

Upon arriving at the old rustic place, she walked up the stairs to the front door, heading inside where she was happily greeted by Uncle Sam, sipping on what smelt like his home-made brew of chamomile tea.

"Bonnie! Welcome back," the man greeted her, a broad grin on his face. "I was worried when you didn't come back last night, but no worries needed! I got your message. How was work?"

Sam Beesley. Or, as the man preferred it, Uncle Sam. The retired chef had taken Bonnie in when she was just 12-years-old. Bonnie couldn't remember much of the man before that; only vague memories of his short appearances during the holiday seasons. Initially, he was against the idea of taking Bonnie in after her parent's death. Not that he didn't like the girl but he claimed that he was far from a good parental figure. But living with the man for the past seven years had gifted Bonnie a perspective that refuted such claims. The man was nothing but family-oriented.

"Hey Sam," Bonnie replied. "Work was…"

 _Different. My boss went nuts and apparently I met the Vice-President; an Abadeer._

"… boring as usual."

Bonnie was not in the mood for any long drawn-out conversation. Sleep was her priority.

"Haha! Now I know you don't like spreadsheets or business, but don't worry. Sooner or later they'll put you up that ladder, and then you'll have other people doing the work for you!"

"Mhmm," Bonnie hummed, ignoring the dark possibility that she would end up like Lenon. _Dear lord, no.._ "That is if they even notice me… It's only been a week, but I'm pretty sure I've done what more people could do in a month."

"Bonnibel Beesley! If there's one thing I'm sure about, it's that they'll take notice of you. Remember back in high school? Everyone knew you after the first semester! Bonnibel Beesley, the prodigy princess! The smartest kid in Bathurst they called you."

… _that kind of publicity wasn't always good. I still remember the jealous ones._

"Yeah… let's hope so," Bonnie said.

"I _know_ so, dear."

"Thanks, Uncle Sam," Bonnie thanked, offering the man an endearing smile. "Garb actually gave me a couple days off after the weekend – a token for all my work… I suppose." Technically it was the vice-prez who had granted the short-notice vacation but Bonnie decide to leave that out. "So I'll just be at home till then."

" _See_? They already started appreciating you!" Sam beamed, taking another sip out of his steaming mug. "I bet you it's only a couple weeks before they get you promoted. Heh. That'd actually help us out quite a bit too right now…" Sam said, his voice lowering to almost a whisper as he swallowed his homemade chamomile concoction.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Ahh, don't worry. I'm just droning on again, aren't I? Enough chit chat! Dinner's in the oven – I think you'll like it. I'll up in the study going over some records. _Boring_ stuff, as you would say," Sam winked.

The mention of dinner evaporated all of Bonnie's thoughts as her focus turned to the gnawing feel in her abdomen. Geez, how long had it been since she'd eaten? A day? Sleep could wait when food was ready. Bonnie bid Sam a swift thanks as she made her way to the kitchen.

The distinct aroma of Sam's pizza immediately filled her nostrils, her nose becoming infused with what was nothing short of pure elation. The man was a master when it came to cuisine, despite the years that had passed since his retirement. Pulling the pan out of the oven and placing it on the kitchen table, Bonnie carefully carved a slice out of the appetizing pie.

A single bite was enough for Bonnie to let out a moan of joy, her face turning to pure delight. Italian spices, laced with a stringy buttery cheese coalesced with a red pepper flavour; a drug that would satisfy anyone's tastebuds. Pulling up a seat at the kitchen table, Bonnibel perused over the loose magazines and paper in front of her, searching for some reading material; an old habit. Strangely enough, there was a couple unattached papers under the vase on the table. Curiosity got the better of her as she pried the paper out from under the vase.

The letters were… bills? Invoices? Statements? Before Bonnie could pick up a second slice of pizza, her eyes became fixed on the bold red that accentuated the heading on each of the letters. ' _Overdue. Urgent. Final notice. Payment required.'_

 _What the…_

Carefully, she flipped through each of them, scanning each one with a keen eye. Mortgage, utilities, phone bills, insurance letters; each addressed to Sam.

 _Why are they all overdue?_

Realization struck her as she remembered Sam's words.

'… _get you promoted_ … _that'd actually help us out quite a bit too right now…'_

Bonnie placed her free hand to her forehead, pushing her fringe back as a concerned expression replaced her previously delighted face. They were in the red. They were short on money. But how? Surely Sam had saved enough during his career to live comfortably. The man had retired early, building a nest egg from all those years working behind the stove at his old restaurants. He had to have been doing well for himself. What changed? The man should be set for life. Unless…

… _Oh._

Unless someone like Bonnie happened to intrude on the man's life. Someone like Bonnie had to all of a sudden become a burden and parasitically prey on the man's life savings, slowly depleting the product of Sam's years of cooking. Seven years was an awfully long time to unexpectedly take care of someone. Attending a private school must've took a chunk out of Sam's nest egg too despite Bonnie being very vocal that a public school would've sufficed.

Bonnie's appetite regressed, replaced with a corrosive feel of guilt as she looked away from the rest of the pizza, the smell of tomatoes and cheddar having disappeared. Bonnie swallowed, the aftertaste of the heavenly pizza having become slightly bitter.

Sam had given so much for her. And what had she done in return?

 _Why didn't he tell me?_

But she knew the answer already. Of course he wouldn't tell her that they were broke. The man's too kind-hearted to add to Bonnie's stress. He saw the way she came home every day for the past week; hair frizzed, clothes crinkled, exhausted. He wouldn't ask for Bonnie to contribute whatever she earned at Nighto. He knew that she wanted to save it all for the possibility of a tertiary education. Leaving these letters on the table must've been a blunder for him.

Bonnie heard the creaking of footsteps coming down the stairs. She promptly slotted the letters back under the vase as she found them before standing up and dashing to the sink to wash her hands. Sam entered the kitchen, his body language showing that he was in search of something.

 _Under the vase, Sam._

"Not going to have anymore? Too much salt?" Sam asked, pointing to the seven-eighths of pizza left on the table.

"No, it's good. Really good. But… I'm not really hungry," Bonnie lied, the feeling of guilt still remained. "I ate on the way home."

"Well, that's alright. More leftovers for tomorrow!" Sam exclaimed, as he began packing the pizza into Tupperware before placing the container into the fridge. The smile on his face made Bonnie question if it was genuine or not, considering their current situation.

"I was just looking for some papers. Letters. Couldn't go over some work without them. Have you seen 'em?"

"Letters? No, sorry," Bonnie answered, her back to Sam as she dried her hands on a tea towel. The sound of papers rustled behind her as Sam spread the loose magazines and newspaper on the kitchen table, searching for the letters. "Uncle Sam-"

"How many times do I have to say it, Bonnie? Just 'Sam',"

Bonnie let out a small sigh, her hands clasped in front of her. "Sam. If you ever need help around the house with anything, I can help you know…"

"Hah! Whatever do you mean?" Sam asked, surprised at Bonnie's words.

"I'm saying I feel like I've…"

 _Been a burden, a leech, a weight._

"… haven't really repaid you for all these years we've lived together. You've given a lot."

Sam stared at Bonnibel for a second, his smile having faded, an eyebrow raised at Bonnibel's sudden acclamation. "Nonsense. You don't have to do anything for me, Bonnie. Besides, that's the last thing your father would have wanted; for his daughter to take care of his older brother. I wouldn't put you up to any trivial work," Sam replied.

The mention of her father brought a solemn smile to Bonnibel's face. Even though she couldn't remember much of the man, Sam always spoke highly of him.

"Why the sudden offer, Bonnie?" Sam asked.

"… No reason. I was just thinking."

"I see, I see. Well… try not to think about that sort of stuff, dear. I assure you, we're doing just _fine._ You just focus on that job down at Nighto. I've got everything else handled."

At the sound of Sam's assurances, Bonnie loosened the grip on her hands, her foregoing guilt having disappeared somewhat. It sounded as if Sam had a plan. And if he didn't want to openly speak about their situation, then Bonnie wouldn't persist. The man was always stubborn, that's for sure, but not stubborn enough to jeopardize the only place Bonnie and he had left to call home.

"I will, Sam," Bonnie responded, grateful to Sam's thoughtfulness. Bonnie's hand covered her mouth as she let out a prolonged yawn. "I think I better go get some sleep."

"No worries. Rest up! You've had a long week."

"Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"… Thanks again. For everything."

"Don't mention it," he replied, a smile reappearing across his face that showed youth beyond his years. "I better get back to those records. Goodnight, dear."

Bonnie nodded, her body finding the energy to follow Sam out of the kitchen. She turned around, glimpsing at the spot where the letters were to see if Sam had found them. They were gone.

* * *

 **A/N: Background info chapter to the Abadeers. Marceline-focussed chapter next. So far everyone's names have been linked to AT (Lenon Garb = Lemon Grab, Finn = Finn, Jake = Jake, etc.) so I'd be very surprised if anyone figures out how who Sam refers to in AT (hint: get nerdy). Thanks again for reading :) - _SnowyZoe_**


	5. Chapter 5

_I do not own Adventure Time._

 **Chapter 5**

 _February 10_ _th_ _2016_

The lingering light of skyscrapers was obliterated by the darkness of the night. The orange-purple sky had transformed into a vastness of jet-black that engulfed Bathurst City, a canopy of luminous stars materializing in the welkin. The perfect weather for Marceline's flight. The cold wind brushed her hair as the view of Simon's penthouse came into sight. It wasn't long until she landed on the balcony atop the tall building, the darkness replaced by the brightness of the outdoor lighting. An old man laid atop a chaise lounge on the balcony, cleaning his round spectacles, unperturbed by Marceline's appearance.

"You're late," Simon spoke, tapping his watch with a less-than-impressed look.

Marceline performed a half-bow - a mocking apology. "The weather was a bit too good to let up tonight." And it was true. The sky hadn't been this dark since the winter of last year. It was a rarity for Marceline to flex herself out in the open without having to worry about a stray pedestrian or plane passenger seeing her.

"I understand, but try to let me know that next time you make an appointment, yes?" Simon asked, placing his spectacles back on the bridge of his nose.

Marceline shrugged as she drifted besides the grizzled man before hovering to a seat of her own. Nighto's company psychiatrist sat up in his chair, reaching for an ornate bowl besides him, offering its contents to Marceline.

"Strawberries?" he asked.

"No thanks. And I've told you before, I can eat normal stuff you know."

Simon nodded before placing the bowl back onto the table. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked.

Marceline let out an exhale, shutting her eyes before speaking. "I talked to her, Simon," she uttered.

The man paused, his expression bounced between surprise and disappointment. "I see…" Simon spoke, after a lengthy silence. "Well then. What'd you talk about?" His posture remained temperate, undisturbed by what he was just told.

"What? Is that it? You're not going to scold me? Lecture me on how stupid I was?"

"Marceline. I _could_ remind you of the stupidity in your actions; the danger you bring to yourself and her, but what's done is done. Besides, let's be thankful that your father is in Dubai right now and can't learn of this. So let's move on… shall we?" He smiled sympathetically.

Marceline's expression softened, feeling that the man's sympathy was undeserved. She trusted Simon. For the past seven years, he had been there whenever she needed to vent. Whether it was about her old school, her father or the bullshit he called the 'family business'. Getting Nighto a shrink was probably the only good decision her father had made for her. Although initially astonished at the revelation that the supernatural was real and that one of his clients was living proof, Simon wouldn't tell others of Marceline's condition. Whether it was his moral code or his steadfast stance on doctor-patient confidentiality, it didn't matter - Marceline was thankful.

"What, where and when?" Simon asked calmly, adjusting his glasses.

"Last week. At Nighto. We… didn't say much. Not about the past anyway."

"Good. Because lord knows what your father would do if he found out you did."

"Why did he have to do this? To let her work there?" Marceline asked, distress in her voice.

"Isn't it obvious? He's testing you."

"Well, guess I'm failing then," Marceline muttered, kicking the faux-wood floor.

Simon dug a notepad out of his back pocket, scribbling in it with a fountain pen, the smell of wet ink filling the air. "I assume you didn't get friendly with her."

"No," Marceline responded. "And I don't plan to. I wouldn't want to get her in trouble with dad. I was just… curious was all."

"Curious?"

"I just…"

 _Want to know if she's the same. The same Bonnie. The Bonnie that would stick with me despite all the bullshit in this world._

"… wonder what she's like now."

"I wouldn't get too close, Marceline. A single misstep and who knows what your father would do. You know how what he thinks of the girl; a bad influ-"

"My dad doesn't know jack. She was _not_ a bad influence," Marceline stated, her hands clenching at the thought of her father. _She isn't._

"Hunson certainly says different. I remember when he came to me. He said – and I quote – she was a corrupter luring his daughter away from her born purpose," Simon said, openly mocking her father's tone.

"My dad's full of shit."

"He's your father. He wants what's best for you."

"No, he doesn't." She asserted her words, a bitter distaste in her mouth. "He wants what's best for Nighto. What's best for the _blood_ in me. What's best for the damn family name. He doesn't give a damn about _me._ Nighto can blow itself up for all I care. Remember when I told him all I wanted was to compose? To write music in this world? He laughed - said I was deluded and that Bonnie had led me astray."

"And yet you still promised him that you would take up the mantle for Bonnibel's sake... I dare say that you are quite noble."

"Don't give me that crap, Simon," Marceline retorted, folding her arms across her chest.

The man put the notebook back in his pocket, capping his pen before a more serious expression molded his face. "There's something else I must bring up," Simon began, his sudden pensiveness causing Marceline to shift uncomfortably. "The board had a meeting this week and told me to-"

"Wait, they met without me?"

"Yes. And I don't blame them. When the subject of the meeting is _you_ , I'm pretty sure they didn't want to see your reaction."

 _What._

Simon continued, ignoring Marceline's frown. "Any who, they took your sudden… _interest_ in re-training all the floor managers as a sign you've started to take things more seriously. They thought the re-training wasn't exactly… necessary or productive. So, they've agreed to assign you a mentor. An assistant, per se. Someone to formally show you the ropes at Nighto, given that your dad is still in Dubai and is expected to be for quite some time."

"What the fuck, Simon. I don't need anyone to show me anything except maybe some respect and tell me when they hold these secret meetings about me," Marceline glowered.

Simon closed his eyes and placed his hands behind his head, the sort of thing you'd see from someone lying on a beach in the Bahamas. The man's relaxed body language vexed Marceline. "Don't look at me like that. I agreed with their decision," he said.

"What!? Why the hell would you do that?"

"Think of it this way, Marceline," Simon said, a smile tugging at his mouth. "Get an assistant. Less work for you. More time for yourself… see what I'm getting at?"

 _More time for… composing?_

Marceline realized her fault for judging the psychiatrist too quickly. She almost wanted to give the man a smile of her own, but instead opted to pluck a strawberry out of the bowl besides him, draining its hue until only a dull-grey remained. "Not bad, Simon."

"A _compliment_ from Marceline Abadeer? I'm flattered," Simon said sarcastically, almost being able to hear Marceline roll her eyes. "They've already short-listed a bunch of applicants. Don't worry, they're all from floor 120 or above so you can be sure they know their stuff. We'll both have to be there as the interviewers so try not to be late by having a fly-around? No matter what the weather is like?"

"Fine."

"Excellent," the man grinned.

* * *

 _February 11_ _th_ _2016_

"Yo, Bon! What's with the glum look?" Finn asked, his head peering over Bonnibel's cubicle.

"Christ, Finn!" Bonnie exclaimed, startled enough to almost fall out of her chair. Her tedious morning had taken a sudden turn at the blonde's exclamation. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Mmm, 'bout thirty seconds. Still doesn't answer my question, though," Finn continued, a finger directed at Bonnie. "I thought most people would be beaming after a couple days off work."

Bonnie pressed her lips together. He would be right under normal circumstances. But her mind still lingered on the financial situation that she and Sam were facing. "It's nothing." Her eyes turned to the floor, giving away the lie. No-one enjoyed hearing about other people's problems. She decided to spare Finn's ears about her money problems.

"Oh come on. You can tell me what's up. Everyone's got issues. It feels way better after you talk about it."

"Shouldn't you be working, Finn?"

"Nah, Jake's got me covered. He owes me after I lent him my car for this date with a girl he met online. Too bad it was a total dud," Finn laughed, tapping his fingers on the side of Bonnie's cubicle. "So. You going to tell me what's wrong?"

"I told you. It's nothing."

"Come on, Bonnie. I promise it'll feel better when you talk it out with a friend."

 _Friend..?_ Could she really call him that? Apart from Finn fixing her phone and clearing up the Garb mess, Bonnibel couldn't think of any real reason to differentiate her co-worker from being her friend or just that. Her co-worker. Sure, she let him call her Bonnie, and she was okay with it. But her calling him… a friend?

"Alright alright, how about this," Finn said, interrupting Bonnie's thoughts. "If working here for the past year has taught me anything, it's that people's problems _usually_ boil down to three things. If one of those three things is… whatever's wrong for you at the moment, you've got to tell me what it is. Deal? Otherwise, I'll be bugging you about it til five."

A defeated sigh left Bonnie's lips. It was clear that he wouldn't leave her be, the man's persistence was almost admirable. _What's the time now? Eleven?_ "Okay, fine."

"Sweet. Number one," Finn began. "Is it… family-related?"

 _Oh you have no idea._ The mention of 'family' always reminded Bonnie of her parents; the two people she wanted to know most. But... she did know them. Just not anymore.

"No," Bonnie stated firmly. "Not this one, anyway."

"Okay okay, hmm... number two then: romantic issues?"

A red tinge crept onto Bonnie's cheeks. "What? No!" Bonnie blurted. Finn let out a light chuckle. Bonnie was tempted to lob her stapler at the man's face.

"Hey, I'm just going through the list. Didn't mean to offend," Finn said, pulling his hands in front of him. "Last one then. Is it… money problems?"

Bonnie froze, unable to look Finn in the eyes now. Her shoulders became stiff as she bit her bottom lip, not saying a word.

"I'm right aren't I?" Finn asked, an empathetic expression forming on his face.

"Fine. Yes. Sam and I are... having a bit of trouble with bills and whatnot."

"Yikes, Bonnie. Why didn't you say so? Jake and I wouldn't mind lending you some-"

"No," Bonnie asserted, her voice sharper than normal. Turning to Finn's gaze, her shoulders relaxed a little at the concern written on his face. "Thank you, Finn. But I would never borrow from someone unless I was sure I could repay them."

"Ahh, I get it. That's cool. But you can't just expect me to not do anything about it." A contemplative look replaced Finn's concern as he held his chin. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. "I've got it. Scooch over for a second." He walked around into Bonnie's cubicle. She stood as Finn took her seat and began using her computer, logging into Nighto's website using his admin credentials. Bonnie could only watch as Finn began typing and clicking.

"What are you doing, Finn?"

No reply. The man seemed focused on what looked like… hacking? Bonnie wasn't sure, but the amount of text and lines of code suggested what he was doing wasn't exactly by the book. Finn's eyes lit up. "Here it is," he said, swivelling the monitor for Bonnie to see. His efforts had brought up a window with what looked like… a job listing on Nighto's website? "Jake and I found a new opening for a position somewhere up top. Something about being a secretary or assistant or whatever, I don't know. What's important is that it _pays_. A pretty penny actually considering that it's just an assistant job. I was thinking that you should try it. Maybe it'll help you and your uncle out."

Bonnie eyed the job listing, looking over the application details and requirements. "This says I need 5 years minimum at Nighto. Not to mention I need to be… floor 120 or above? Wow, I don't think I'd-."

"Pssh, that's just their way of saying you got to be smart. Seeing your work, I'm sure that you'd do fine."

"Wait, how have you seen my work?"

"Eh, sometimes Jake and I get bored so we go through people's sent emails."

 _I'm pretty sure there's some sort of rule against that, but okay._ "Still doesn't change the fact that they'd reject me instantly."

"That's where you're wrong, Bon!" Finn laughed, giving Bonnie a wink. "With a little bit of tinkering in the company's database… I could get you on the shortlist for the interviews. Just send me your resume and I'll attach it."

Bonnie looked at Finn, eyes wide and confused. "You can? But… why?" she asked, her expression both hopeful and puzzled.

"Well... because when they're interviewing you they'll probably want your res-"

"No, not that," Bonnie said, shaking her head. "Why would you do that for me? Wouldn't you get into trouble?"

"Nah, it's not like I'm stealing or hurting anybody. Worst case scenario they'll just turn you down. I'm not giving you the job, you still got to pass the interview and junk. So it'd be up to you if you get the job or not. And as for why?" He beamed a wide grin. "What are friends for?"

Bonnibel's previous downcast mood was gone, replaced with a little bit of a happiness that she had missed for quite some time. Perhaps... perhaps she _could_ call the blonde man sitting in her chair her friend.

"Better send that resume quick, though," Finn said.

"Huh? Why's that?"

"Because," he smiled again. "Interviews are tomorrow."

* * *

 **A/N: Y'all can probably see where this is going. Next chapter we'll finally get some Bubbline interaction (thanks for waiting).  
** **Guest: Powers stuff will come, but might be a bit slow. I don't want to make it a focus point until later in the story.  
** **Guest2: You were right at first! Sam is Peppermint Butler. The scientific name for peppermint is** _ **Mentha Bal-sam-ea Willd**_ **. Cheesy, I know.**

 **I really like interacting with you guys, so sign in and let me reply to your reviews!**


	6. Chapter 6

_I don't own Adventure Time._

 **Chapter 6**

 _February 12_ _th_ _2016_

The ebony sky that had lingered for the past few days finally revealed its intent as it grumbled restlessly. Thick black clouds plagued the sky, dragged down by the heavy rain that they held within their airy skeletons. The weight became too much as the clouds finally gave in, releasing a torrential downpour accompanied by a flashing thunder. Rain bombarded the tall windows of Nighto's 148th floor, a cacophony resonating throughout the floor.

 _Why the hell did I agree to this._

Time flowed like cement as Marceline dug her phone out of her pocket. A few minutes had passed since she last checked it an hour ago - at least that's how it felt. Simon sat next to her, speaking with another big-shot from a higher floor who was across the table. _Another pompous prick._

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Evans. At this stage of the interview, we will provide an immediate response to your application. Ms. Abadeer - what are your thoughts on having Mr. Evans fill the role?"

Marceline gave a blank look, her arms folded across her chest. "Mmm, not going to happen. Sorry, bud - you're not really what we're looking for."

"Excuse me, but do I not have the proper qualifications for such a position?"

"Sure, maybe. But you're still not getting the job. Would you kindly get out now?"

Evans gave a tight frown. "As a matter of fact, no – I will not. Not until I receive a proper explanation as to how my credentials do not facilitate the position."

"If you insist." _God, I hate these kinds of people. "_ Simon, explain if you would."

Simon let out a long sigh, rubbing his eyelids behind his glasses. "I believe what Ms. Abadeer is trying to say is that… we thank you for your interest in the executive assistant position, Mr. Evans." Simon spoke with professionalism that even Marceline had to admire sometimes. "While your education and previous experience at Nighto are very impressive, we found you did not meet certain…" Simon paused, giving a disapproving look at Marceline who had a wry smirk on her face. "… eligibility criteria."

Evans let out a loud huff before standing, the sudden movement almost knocking his chair over. What followed was stifled muttering along the lines of '…unbelievable…' and '…ridiculous…'. Simon stood to offer the man a handshake but was promptly ignored whilst Marceline just pulled her phone out again. Evans marched out of the room, but not before letting loose another growl and then slamming the door shut behind him.

"Well – that went nicely," Simon said, sitting back down. "Marceline, I understand that you dislike these people… but would you mind taking the time to evaluate them thoroughly? They're going to be helping you do _your_ work, after all. Would you _please_ try and refrain from inserting your personal opinions?"

"Hmm… nope. If I'm going to work with someone, I don't need them sounding like an I-know-it-all snob half the time. Plus, I'd rather get this over with - all this sitting is killing my bu-"

"Patience. There's only a few people left. I must agree, however - judging by the man's body language alone, I could see how you'd pick up such an impression. He did exhibit the classic signs of self-importance."

"See? I knew that without having to spend years studying it," Marceline said, poking her tongue out.

The psychiatrist raised his eyebrows with a defeated look. "Let's just move on to the next one… shall we?"

* * *

 _Who the blimp makes interviews at 10:00pm on a Friday!? Ugh... and these heels are killing me..._

Bonnibel was tired and was next in line. She had already used up all her faculties during the day, but the prospect of snagging a promotion was too appealing to pass up. Not only would it benefit her situation, but she could even maybe get a new boss – and away from Lenon, the brute. She hadn't had to put an effort into looking presentable since her internship interview. Thankfully, she was able to pick out a plain black blazer from a thrift shop that didn't completely bankrupt her.

Bonnibel looked besides her. There were only a few of them left, each waiting in line for their shot at impressing the interviewers. The intricate smell of perfume and cologne hung in the air, along with the sight of branded accessories and expensive attires - a testament to the social upstanding of Bonnie's competition. She had noticed their stares as well, almost being able to hear their thoughts.

' _How'd she even make the shortlist?'_

' _Doesn't even look like she graduated college.'_

She ignored them. Bonnie had dealt with a similar situation when she had applied for the internship at the beginning of the year. If there was anything she knew she was good at, it was ignoring what others thought of her.

 ***SLAM***

The interview room's door made an ear-splitting crack that made Bonnibel jump in her seat. The candidate who had walked in earlier stormed down the corridor, a multitude of irritated phrases leaving his mouth. "Unbelievable… Absolutely ridiculous… Didn't meet criteria..? Bullshit… I've been here twenty-five years, for god's sake…" The scene was all too familiar.

Composing herself, Bonnie stood and stepped into the interview room, turning to gently shut the door behind her. She then faced her interviewers who were sitting behind a large grey table. There were two of them. One was an older gentleman, about mid-fifties - starting to grey - and wore those round spectacles that were popular in the 90s. _Probably someone important_. The other one was…

…

 _Oh no._

…

 _No no no._

The other one was…

… was _her._

 _Why is she here!?_

The black-haired girl sitting next to the man clearly had the same thoughts as Bonnie when her eyes widened momentarily. A mutual surprise caused the girl to take a quick breath before quickly covering her face with her hand in an almost… timid fashion. The man, oblivious to his colleague's reaction, simply smiled at Bonnie – although, it was obvious he was slightly confused as to how young Bonnibel looked. "Good evening. Please, take a seat."

Bonnie obliged, carefully sitting down on the chair opposite her interviewers, not averting her gaze from the apparent 'vice-president'. It had been a week since Bonnie had met her - but if not for the flannel jacket the girl was wearing, Bonnie might have mistaken her for someone else.

"I believe introductions are in order. Simon Petrikov - Nighto's company psychiatrist," the man introduced, extending his hand.

 _Psychiatrist? Why would he be an interviewer?_ "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Petrikov." Bonnie smiled, shaking Simon's hand with a firm grip.

"Please, formalities are not needed; call me Simon. Here next to me is-"

"We've met already," Marceline interrupted, her hand still covering her face. _Is she embarrassed? Cute. Wait – what?_ "You're in the wrong place. We're doing interviews for people with _experience_ \- not newb interns."

"Ehhm… you'll have to excuse Ms. Abadeer – it must come to her as a surprise to find someone as young as yourself making the shortlist! Now - may I ask for your name? I'll have to find your application within this stack of papers." Simon thumbed through a pile of resumes, each one a summary of one's life accomplishments.

"Beesley. Bonnibel Beesley." Bonnie continued smiling, ignoring the other girl's remarks.

The man paused. He had suddenly stopped riffling through the pile of resumes, looking up to survey… no – to _study_ Bonnibel. It made Bonnie feel awkward, to say the least. For a while, the only sound that could be heard throughout the room was the pelleting of rain against the windows along with the occasional thunder. After what seemed like an examination of sorts by the psychiatrist, the man stole a glance at his partner before letting out a brief chuckle.

"Ms. _Beesley_ , you say? Hmm… let me see. Ah! Yes. Here it is. Bonnibel Beesley."

" _What?_ " Marceline asked.

"I've actually heard quite a bit about you, Ms. Beesley."

"You have?" _Why? Did the vice-prez have a rant about the inadequacy of Nighto's interns on my behalf?_ "I'll have to take that as a compliment," Bonnie returned.

"As you should." The man smiled, grinning at Marceline to which the girl rolled her eyes. "Before we start, I'm assuming you understand that the interview process for more… well-paid positions operate a little differently."

"Simon, what the hell are you doing?" Marceline whispered.

 _I can hear you - you know._

"Why, interviewing the candidate, of course. Finding out if they're fit for the job - getting to know them." Simon winked.

Marceline stared at Simon for the briefest of moments, before closing her mouth. For whatever reason, her expression changed from one of confusion to what looked like… hesitation? Bonnibel just smiled at her interviewer's little interaction.

"As I was saying… we do things a little differently for these interviews. We'll start off with the word association test. I assume you've heard of this?"

 _Word association? What the… – isn't that the bogus personality psych-test? Finn… what have you gotten me into?_ Bonnie was tempted to ask why such a test was even needed, but was unwilling to question her superiors. She couldn't afford to look weak in front of them - literally. "Yes, I'm familiar with it."

"Wonderful – I won't have to explain how it works then. Let's begin." Simon uncapped a fountain pen from his shirt pocket, poising it above a small leather bound notepad.

"Name."

" _Bonnibel_."

"Education."

" _Valedictorian_."

"Nighto."

" _Employment_."

"Money."

' _Need,'_ is what Bonnibel was about to say, but she caught herself before doing so. She didn't want to come off as someone greedy. Without missing a beat, she continued. " _Assets_."

The man's expression cast a suspicious look before he jotted down something into his notepad. "May I remind you that in the test, you should speak the first word that comes to mind?" _How did… how'd he know that wasn't my first word?_ "Nonetheless, let's move on. Black."

 _What was the point of this test? Is he actually trying to figure out my personality? Did I just prove I'm a liar?_ Discarding her thoughts, Bonnie had to continue. " _White_."

"Office."

" _Sterile_."

"Musician."

" _Create_."

"Memories."

"…" Bonnibel became silent, the smile fading from her face. She could've sworn that the vice-president's eye had twitched. Again, the psychiatrist stopped to write something down. _What was he playing at?_

"Again, Ms. Beesley - only the first word that comes to mind."

Bonnie bit her bottom lip. Somehow, the man _knew_ when she didn't say the first word in her head. Not wanting to be seen as a liar, she had no choice but to say the word she was thinking. It came out in a whisper.

"… lost."

"That's enough, Simon." The vice-president interjected, placing her hand on the psychiatrist's shoulder. "Like I said, we've already met - and I doubt a fourth floor intern has what it takes for this job."

"If I recall, we only spoke for a minute and you didn't even give me your name," Bonnie said.

"So what? I bet you already know who I am."

"As a matter of fact - I do."

Marceline's ears perked up. "You do?"

"I know _exactly_ who you are, Marceline." The black-haired girl flushed at the sound of her name which almost threw off Bonnibel's train of thought. "You're Nighto's vice-president – the one people say who's inept at running the place. Thus, I assume that's why this position opened up - so that others could pick up _your_ slack." _What the flip are you saying!? You're meant to impress these people!_

Marceline's flush was gone, replaced with a rising annoyance. "Listen here, _Beesley…_ "

"Ahem!" Simon coughed. "I agree with Ms. Abadeer - we should conclude the word association test and move onto more formal proceedings. Ms. Beesley, it says here that you graduated as valedictorian from Blackwell's Academy for Business. Quite impressive, I must say. Tell us, what would you-"

"No, Simon. I think we're done here." Marceline stood, pointing at Bonnibel, then towards the door. "You. Get out."

"Excuse me?"

"Did I stutter? I said: Get. Out."

A perplexed Bonnie looked at Simon. The man looked at her sympathetically before giving a small nod, suggesting that it was best for her to just leave. With nothing left to say, Bonnie stood and walked towards the door - not before taking another look at the vice-president. Her face was hard to read, but there was definitely annoyance and… something else. With a turn of the knob, Bonnie left the room.

Outside, Bonnie was again met with the stares of the few interviewees that were left before she let out a disappointed sigh, wondering what had just happened.

… _I screwed up… didn't I?_

* * *

Back inside the interview room, the thumping in Marceline's head had just begun to slowly die down.

"Why..." Marceline whispered, sitting down once Bonnibel had left the room.

"Why what?" Simon asked.

"Why'd you bring her here? Was this some sort of trick for you to see how I would react? Did Hunson tell you to set this up?"

"Marceline, I assure you - I had no idea she was an applicant."

"Then how the hell did she get on the list? You said people from floor 120 or up only!"

"Yes, I did say that. You and I are both on the same page in this situation… It must have been a glitch on the IT department's side..."

"And what was up with that test you gave her? That… word-for-word crap? You didn't give that to the others. Were you trying to read her mind or something?"

"Read her mind? Hah! Nonsense. Any self-respecting psychiatrist knows the word association test is a load of phooey - you can't truly read someone's thoughts by simply listing off a few words."

"Then what was the point of it?"

"It was a little something I wanted to do out of simple interest. After hearing about this young lady for seven years, I could not resist. As to why I used the word association test? Well… you don't listen to the word they say, you observe how they _react_ to your word - their facial movements, their body language."

"What?"

"Microexpressions, Marceline. It's a little something I had the pleasure of studying alongside an emeritus professor from the eastern states. If you observe how people _react_ to the word you say during the test, you can make some assumptions as to what they're truly thinking."

"You never told me you could do this before."

"You never asked."

"Duh, why would I ask you if you can read minds?"

"Like I said, it's not mind-reading. I prefer to call it inductive reasoning. Everything is assumed and nothing is certain."

"Hmm… if you say so. Then what'd you see in her?"

"Who?" Simon smiled.

"Bonnie." Simon stopped to look at Marceline, to which the girl abruptly turned away. "Hey! You're not doing that thing on me right now, are you?"

He laughed. "No, of course not. But in answer to your question, she wasn't overly-proud of the fact that she was valedictorian of her school - so, I think we can rule out a large ego. When I did mention money, however, there were some expressions of desire."

"Desire?"

"Yes, but not the kind you'd expect out of greed or avarice. It was a desire more out of… necessity. I believe it's safe to assume that the your Bonnibel is having a bit of an issue with money."

"Hold up - _my_ Bonnibel!?"

"That's what I said, yes. I assumed you would give the position to her now that I've told you she is in need of the compensation." _Oh, that's what he meant._ "Plus, didn't you say you were curious as to the kind of person she was now? This would be your chance to find out."

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind, Simon."

"If you get her as your assistant, you'll be able to sate your curiosity. Given that the girl was valedictorian of Blackwell, I have no doubt she could handle the job. The academy is actually very prestigious, bringing in sons and daughters of important figures across the state."

"Sounds expensive."

"It is. It's a private institution."

"Then how'd she afford it if you think she's got money issues?"

"I don't know - maybe you can find that out yourself when you're working together," Simon winked.

Marceline clenched her hands. It was a tempting plan. A plan that she was willing to take if it meant satisfying the curiosity that had plagued her mind for the past couple of weeks. But, she had to be careful. Careful of her father. Careful not to apprise him of her doings. If he discovered that Marceline had even _spoken_ to Bonnibel… she wasn't sure what he would do. "What about my dad?"

"What of him?"

"What if he finds out that I'm _working_ with her? Seeing her almost every day? He'll go batshit insane."

"Then that's a risk you should be willing to take. Besides, Hunson has no reason to return soon if business is running smoothly here in Bathurst. I've heard there had been some disagreements with the Sheikh, so negotiations may be prolonged. Just… try and keep things in order here, and you'll have all the time you need."

Marceline picked up Bonnibel's resume, taking note of the redhead's portrait in the uppermost corner. Did she have what it takes to see this face almost every day? "Fine. Give her the job. You can call her number."

"Ahem, I think _you_ should be the one to tell her."

" _Me?_ "

"Yes - the person who informs the candidate is usually their new boss. I'm but the mere psychiatrist. If you hurry, I'm sure you could even catch her in the foyer. Phone calls are dreadfully impolite, in my opinion. The girl's probably just on her way home in this blistering rain."

Marceline desperately wanted to protest, but knew it would prove futile. _Talk to her again? In person? By myself?_ The man had a stern look in his eyes that asserted an air of adamancy that she wouldn't be able to refute. She pressed her lips together, stood, then walked for the door.

"There is one thing I have to ask, Marceline."

"What?"

"Don't you wish to know what she was thinking when I prompted the word 'memories'?"

Marceline paused for a moment. It didn't take a renowned psychiatrist to tell what the girl was thinking when Simon mentioned 'memories'. She recalled the sombre look on Bonnie's face… "No, actually - don't tell me."

Simon nodded understandingly. With that, the vice-president stepped out of the interview room, meeting the stares of the rest of the interviewees. Bonnibel was nowhere to be seen. _Probably already in the foyer…_ "Show's over. Go home, chumps. The job's been filled."

Irritated groans echoed throughout the corridor as Marceline briskly walked towards the elevator with Bonnibel's resume in hand. There was only one thought on her mind, however, when she took another look at the girl's portrait. It didn't matter that they were older. It didn't matter that they had grown up - that they had taken on the 'responsibilities' of adults. Because, the auburn-haired girl still was…

 _Pretty as always…_

* * *

 **A/N: My god. I hate being my own beta. Anyway, this chapter took a bit longer as I was experimenting with dialogue and an editing checklist. Did you notice? :P Tell me what you think in that little box below. Criticism, praise, criticism, hate, criticism; I read it all! Thanks again for your readership.**

 **Yohanne: The troubles of proof-reading my own work. I didn't want to say there were a lot more floors above Marcy's loft, but there is one. That would make Nighto Inc. 150-storys tall - just 7 shy of the Burj Khalifa in Dubai :)**


	7. Chapter 7

_I don't own Adventure Time._

 **Chapter 7**

 _February 12th 2016_

' _You've reached the phone of Sam Beesley. Sorry I can't pick up right now. Please leave a message.'_

 _Damn._

Bonnie pulled her phone away from ear. Her uncle was most likely asleep. Then again, she did tell him not to wait up. It was only a couple of hours ago she had texted Sam saying she had to work late again. She didn't have the courage to say she had gotten a shot - a chance. And now she definitely wasn't telling Sam about it, expecting to add to the brimming pot of disappointment and stress the man would experience once he learned of her rejection.

 _Great._ Sam was sleeping, bus lines were closed at this hour, and - in her bout of frustration - Bonnie had left her umbrella back at her cubicle.

And still no keypass.

So how the _heck_ was she meant to get home?

Bonnie dropped onto the concrete steps leading to Nighto's entrance, defeated - the rain continuing to patter on the awning above as she massaged her temples.

 _Ugh..._

With no choice but to wait the rain out and walk the journey, Bonnie had time to reflect on what had occurred only a few minutes prior.

She had blown it. Her chance at recognition, her chance at impressing, and - worst of all - her chance at repaying Sam. And _why_? Just because of that… that _girl._ Something about her had just ticked Bonnie off. Was it the way she spoke? The silver spoon in her _Abadeer_ -ian mouth? How she could take such a lax approach to life without consequence? Whatever it was, it had cost Bonnie her chance at promotion. Heck. She wouldn't be surprised if she got a memo on Monday saying she was fired.

Wallowing in her thoughts, Bonnie didn't notice the sound of the glass doors sliding open behind her - footsteps creeping towards her. It wasn't until the unmistakable blue denim of ripped jeans materializing in Bonnie's peripheral vision did she look up.

"Hey," the vice-president spoke, her voice oddly calm - her gaze directed across the street as she stood only a few inches away from Bonnie.

Bonnie stood abruptly, almost tripping in the heels she barely wore. She had barely heard the other girl speak over the rain as she stepped back, uncomfortable at the short distance that separated them.

Bonnie composed herself after a lengthy pause. "What can I do for you, Miss _Abadeer_?" Bonnie asked, the question coming out sharper than intended.

With her hands still in her jean-pockets, the other girl's gaze faltered. Her expression sprung between a genuine intent to verbalize her thoughts or opting for simple silence.

"Nothing, really," she spoke, lightly tapping her foot on the concrete. "And you can drop the formalities. You already said my name back there - may as well keep using it. And I just wanted some air after hours of listening to you people drone on and on. Didn't think interviews would be such a sleeping pill."

 _A sleeping pill..? A sleeping pill!?_

"I assume you've accepted someone for the job, then?"

Marceline shrugged. "Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"Mhmm."

"Congratulations to whomever then." Bonnie had picked up the hint that the vice-president didn't want to go into the details. Probably because of some notion for corporate confidentiality.

Instead, Bonnie just looked the girl up and down. Judging by her exceedingly casual attire of jeans and flannel, any passerby would mistake her for a college student - and definitely not the vice-president of a NASDAQ-100 company. Bonnie had the pleasure of making that mistake a week prior.

 _God, her hair is pristine._

Under the dimming moonlight, the girl even looked-

 _No, no, no - what am I thinking!?_

"My turn, what are _you_ doing? Don't tell me you're sitting in this rain because you're glum over your interview - because that would be way too melodramatic." She turned to face Bonnie, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

"If I recall, you told me to 'get out'. Hardly the most professional way of turning someone down, don't you think?"

"Pfft - whatever. You still haven't answered my question."

"What?"

"Why're you still here?"

"I'm going home."

"Sitting on the wet steps in front of the building is what you call going home?" Marceline snickered. "Oh boy, you're more dramatic than I thought."

"For your information, I'm waiting for this rain to stop so I can walk home."

"Seriously? Don't you have a car? Or at least an umbrella?"

"Not everyone has the circumstances of affording their own vehicle," Bonnie said, placing a hand on her hip. "And yes, I _do_ have an umbrella. It's just back at the office… which is locked." Bonnie sat back down onto the cold steps, resting her chin in the palm of her hands.

Both girls said nothing as the sights and sounds of a rainy friday night buzzed around them. Despite the weather, there was still a myriad of teenagers getting drunk, adults senselessly swooning over one another and the nonstop blaring of car horns as the aforementioned wandered carelessly into the streets.

Marceline exhaled. "... Wait here," she said, walking back towards the building.

 _Like I could go anywhere right now anyway._

Bonnie turned to see the girl swipe a card across the electronic lock on the door to which they opened gracefully. Bonnie shrugged, indifferent to what the vice-president was doing.

A few minutes had passed, the rain still showing no signs of dying. The vice-president had again emerged besides Bonnie… but this time with something in hand. The distinct cherry pink fabric the girl was holding meant it could only have been one thing: Bonnie's umbrella. The vice-president held it out to Bonnie to which the copper-headed girl turned wide eyed.

"What the... - did you just get this from my cubicle?"

She rolled her eyes. "No - I got this from the stock of disgustingly pink umbrellas we hoard. Yes, I got it from your cube. Are you going to take it or what?"

Bonnie got off her feet, taking her umbrella with suspicious eyes. _She's gotta have some sort of ulterior motive..._ "Thank you, I suppose."

"Don't mention it. I doubt that thing will help anyway," Marceline said, nodding at the downpour.

"Well, I have no choice now - do I?" - she pushed a button near the umbrellas hilt, blossoming its canopy - "I appreciate it. Goodnight, _Marceline_." The name felt... bitter on Bonnie's lips.

"You're going to _walk_ home?"

"Yes. Am I not allowed?"

"I didn't say that. I'm just making sure that you do know you're probably going to get mugged or _worse_ at this time of night, and in this rain" - she pointed to Bonnie's umbrella - "That thing is basically a homing beacon screaming 'I'm defenceless' to everyone within thirty feet of you."

"Are you suggesting I should take a cab or something? Because Bathurst's drivers are far from eloquent, if I do say so. Besides, I appreciate your concern - but, I can handle myself." With that, Bonnie stepped out from under the awning and into the rain. Her feet were wet, but her mid-riff and torso remained bone-dry.

 _God, I hate the feel of wet socks._

"Hold up."

Bonnie swivelled around at Marceline's words, expecting some sort of half-arsed attempt at a formal adieu. What she heard next was the last thing she expected.

"I'll give you a ride."

…

 _Huh?_

"You'll what?" Bonnie asked, confusion plastered on her face.

"I said I'll give you a ride."

"I heard what you said… but - what? Why would you do that?"

"Because…" Marceline let out a prolonged sigh, squeezing her eyes shut. " _You_ got the position, okay?" she exclaimed, avoiding eye contact. "And I don't need you getting sick so we'd fall behind on current projects."

 _..!?_

"I- you- huh?"

"You heard me. You got it. Congrats, yada yada yada - it wasn't my decision, ok? Look - you want a ride home or what?"

Bonnie blinked incredulously. Was this another elaborate joke? Some sort of sick method of bringing her hopes up only to have them dashed away in another instant? Another mocked up Lenon-method of being hazed? A few moments passed. There was no punchline - no 'you're-so-gullible' phrase that would've brought about another spiral of misery. The vice president's jawline was clenched, her lips lacking any sense of humour. _She was serious._

"Sure," Bonnie replied, stifling a cautious joy - although her grin betrayed herself. "Could I ask what made you choose me? Weren't there plenty of other people more suitable than me?"

"No - that stuff's confidential. And like I said; it wasn't my decision. Now hurry up and get out of the rain. My car's in the underground, we'll take the elevator." The vice-president wandered back towards the building's doors. A feeling of fleeting gratitude graced a thin smile across Bonnie's lips as she followed the vice-president, still befuddled as to the true reason behind the other girl's kind gesture.

* * *

This was not what Bonnie had expected.

"Relax, they're not looking at you - they're just looking at the car," Marceline assured.

Bonnie sat in the passenger side, the feeling of embossed leather cushioning her behind, an overwhelming fragrance of strawberry apparent in the cabin. An exorbitant amount of horsepower revved behind her head as onlookers from the outside ogled the vice-president's supercar. Zero to sixty in three-point-four seconds, Bonnie was told - although she had no interest in Marceline's expensive toy.

Bonnie was thrown back into her seat as her driver slammed their foot down, one hand on the wheel, the other on the shifter which they moved effortlessly, each manoeuvre causing Bonnie's stomach to lurch. The g-forces themselves made her want to hurl out of the _ridiculously_ over-tinted windows. Wasn't there city rules as to how dark you could make them? Although they were a near pitch black, Bonnie could still peer outside, noticing her ride had attracted countless spectators congregated at stop lights or along the sidewalks - most with their phone's out, presumably snapping photos of the engineering marvel.

 _I think I'm gonna be sick…_ "Didn't you have anything more… subtle?" Bonnie asked, feeling cramped under the stares of the envious samaritans.

"Subtle? Are you saying something's wrong with Mercy?"

"Mercy? You _named_ your car?"

"Yeah - so what?" Bonnie let out a light giggle. "What's so damn funny?"

"Oh, nothing sorry. I just thought it was endearing that you named your car."

Marceline's grip on the wheel noticeably tightened as a blush almost took a hold of her. "Whatever."

"Are you going to tell me the details now?"

"About..?"

"This new job. What I have to do, what floor I'm on, salary negotiation - the same stuff they spoke about after the internship interview. The only thing I could make out of the vague description for this position was that it supposedly involves assisting someone with their work."

"Eh, something like that. You can find that all out on Monday. Hundred-forty-ninth floor, eight PM. Don't be late."

 _Hundred-forty-what..!?_ "Eight-o-clock? Isn't that a bit late?"

"That's what the job is. Take it or leave it."

"... Fine. When do I stay til?"

"That depends on how good you are. You know, Simon - that shrink that was next to me - spoke highly of you. Said how you were some brainiac coming from Blackwell. Valedictorian, apparently?"

"Yes."

"Good for you. I went to a rich-kid school too across the country. Got expelled first year."

 _Why am I not surprised._ "How come?" Bonnie asked, out of politeness.

"Got in a fight with another kid." Marceline took her eyes off the road just in time to see Bonnie's quizzical look. "Oh please, don't look at me like that. I wasn't the one who started it."

"How so?"

"Growing up, the kid probably thought he could have whatever he wanted - which included me. When he started spreading rumours, I punched him in the face. I was like - what - thirteen? The dude was a total jackass."

"So you're saying you threw the first hit?"

"Hey - talk shit, get hit. He got what he deserved and I thought it was hilarious. Guy had to get stitches which ended up ruining his pretty boy face. Dad didn't find it quite as funny. I ended up doing private tuition with a bunch of smart goons for a few years after that. Cost my dad a fortune. And as far as I know, Blackwell ain't cheap either. So how'd _you_ pay for it?"

"... My parents and uncle helped me."

"Your uncle and your… _parents?_ "

"Yes - they had organized a trust fund to help with the tuition," Bonnie replied, her voice stern.

"Oh."

 _Please don't ask. Please don't ask._

An awkward silence descended between the pair, the air suddenly becoming much more delicate. Bonnie knew - judging by the side glances she was getting - Marceline had the urge to continue her questioning, but was thankful that she didn't. Bonnie didn't want to delve into _those_ thoughts. Not right now - and _especially_ not around somebody else.

Attempting to alleviate the atmosphere, Marceline jabbed a finger at the console's touchscreen, to which an ambient piano music imbued the car's interior. An immediate look of regret dawned on her face, however, as she reached for the console again to shut the music off.

 _Holy moly._

"Hold on," Bonnie said, flicking her hand out, almost grabbing the other girl's which recoiled reflexively. "I _know_ this piece."

There was no mistaking the stately grand music that emanated from the dashboard's speakers. Bonnie had heard it thousands of times before, back in her days at Blackwell. The lonesome nights of constant study made somewhat bearable by the melody that she was listening to at that exact moment. Harmony and tone combined, producing a sound that was characteristic of its Polish composer.

"Chopin's Fantaisie-Impromptu..." Bonnie spoke.

"Surprise, surprise - the nerd knows her music. Didn't know they taught music at Blackwell too."

"They don't. I just know because I enjoy the classics. But... they never play classical on the radio. Which means... you downloaded this?"

"Yeah - what of it?"

"I'm just a little surprised. I honestly didn't expect you to be the classical-listening type."

"I didn't expect _you_ to be so shallow."

"I know - sorry, that came out wrong. I just thought that… nevermind. I've never heard this rendition before. It's not Lisitsa - too slow for her... Evgeny Kissin? No - lacks the power. Who's playing this?"

Marceline's foot loosened off the accelerator _ever_ so slightly. "... I don't know. I forget. It could just be a synthesizer."

"No, there's some slight mis-timings in the trills, someone's definitely playing this."

The car took another turn, although this time it was much more jagged than before. "Can we forget about who's playing the darn song? We're almost there."

"Yikes - if you wanted to keep your virtuoso a secret, you could've said so."

"Virtuoso?"

"Yeah, whoever's playing this obviously knows what they're doing. It's very captivating."

"... Sure, whatever you say."

The rest of the ride lacked conversation as the two pulled up a few blocks away from Bonnie's house. Bonnie had given loose directions, planning to walk the rest of the journey, not wanting the vice-president to exactly know where she lived - a precaution she used since her days at Blackwell.

"Thank you, Miss Aba...- _Marceline_. For the ride. And for giving me the opportunity."

"There's nothingto thank. I just don't want to lose a profits just because your big head got sick. Don't think this was anything else. It was just business."

 _And there it is._ The temperament Bonnie had been told about.

"Oh - it's just that my dad said to always thank good deeds. Sorry again if I've said anything wrong." Bonnie gave a sincere smile to which the other girl's cheek twitched. She opened the scissor-door, garnering more looks from nearby bystanders.

"Hey, dweeb. You forgot this." Marceline said, leaning over with Bonnie's umbrella in hand. "And just a note: you say sorry too much."

With that, Bonnie plucked her umbrella out of the other girl's hand, bidding Marceline farewell as she closed the door. Wheels kicked up rainwater as the vice-president's matte-black toy propelled across the road.

Opening her umbrella, Bonnie couldn't help but notice that behind the near-black windows in the rear-view mirror, Marceline's piercing green eyes were staring right back at her.

Bonnie's phone buzzed, the screen highlighting a text from Sam, apologizing profusely for not responding earlier. Bonnie smiled as she replied, telling him that she was only a couple minutes away and had some better-than-average news to share.

Wandering down the block with a stride in her step, Bonnie couldn't help but remember a fact she had read in an old research paper during her sophomore year.

That the subconscious made people more attracted to others...

… _with the same taste in music._

* * *

 **A/N: Some of the reviews for the last chapter really made me giddy. And a special thanks to DiddlyPanda for beta-ing. Props to anyone who guesses the make and model of the car (Hint: the name is Spanish for something).**

 **EarthGate: I totally understand. If that happened in real life, so many lawsuits would occur.  
Bi: I've never touched psychology although I am flattered that you think so. The microexpressions thingo was something I got from a TV show called Lie to Me which is entirely based around that concept.**


	8. Chapter 8

_I still don't own Adventure Time, unfortunately._

 **Chapter 8**

 _February 14th 2016  
_

Somewhere in Jumeirah, Dubai.

The stately Stygian figure of a man finished the second glass of his pungent fruit liquor, the ethanoic liquid travelled down his esophagus with ease as he looked out of crystal windows towards the spectacular scenery that was the Arabian Gulf. He stepped out of the shade of the blinds and into the high noon's scorching rays to which his bare fingers sizzled slightly. An arrogant smirk writhed its way onto his lips as he withdrew his hand, but only after enjoying the scorching pain a little further.

He detested the Middle-East. The only people who had a shred of civility were within a forty-mile radius, the archaic culture was based on the writings of an ostensible prophet from thousands of years before, and the whole land was run by a sovereign dictatorship.

So primitive.

And they also couldn't get a darn bottle of cognac right. The one residing on the nearby burgundy desk was from his private collection; an 1815 Napoleonic brandy, airlifted from Bathurst a single day after his arrival to the country. But the worst thing the man could say for certainty about the tainted land was the _god-forsaken_ sun. It was as if it was hung indefinitely in the arid sky and it certainly hindered the man's movements. If it wasn't for the country's stupendous geographical luck to possess crude oil, the man would never have thought of visiting the place.

A knock was heard on the door, a slender middle-aged woman - French descent, light freckles coloring her skin that accented her platinum ponytail - made her way into the villa's study, her clothing reminiscent of a Victorian-era housekeeper. However, looks were deceiving as she was far from a mere servant, as she was the man's personal assistant.

"What is it, Sophia?" the taller figure asked, displeased at the woman's sudden appearance.

"Forgive the interruption, sir. But, I've new terms from the Sheikh. He's agreed to provide the requested number of barrels, on the condition that we hand over our holdings from the upper parts of the Emirates."

He cackled from the bottom of his lungs. "Despicable. You can only expect so much from these sand people, squirming in the filth of their own corruption, putting their hands on what is rightfully ours."

"Sir?"

"Tell our friend those conditions are... _incompatible_ with our current interests, and that any further attempts at seizing our holdings would result in… _great_ displeasure," the man dismissed, pouring himself a third glass of the fermented spirit.

"Yes, sir," Sophia said, bowing.

"Sophia," the man bellowed.

"Yes?"

"What of the news in Bathurst? Has my absence been damaging?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Revenue has stagnated by eight percent, combined with Britain's EU departure, we forecast greater losses in the coming weeks. Reports say that our capital reserves have had to be tapped into to maintain market value," Sophia said. She cast her eyesight onto the floor, her hands fidgeted with one another as she audibly gulped.

"And..?" The man pressed, noticing the woman's hesitation.

"And… - if I may speak freely, sir?"

"You may."

"Was it really a wise decision to put your daughter in charge? Forgive my insolence - but, I do think there were others who were more suitable. Her current management may be an instigation to our current-"

"Marceline knows the responsibilities of her birthright and will prove useful in time," the man replied, sipping from his antique glass, the ice clinking as he did so. "It's just a matter of pushing her in the proper direction. She will come around soon enough."

"Of course, sir."

"And what of the _other_ situation?"

"The Beesley girl's been assigned under Lenon Garb, as per your orders, sir. So far, our source has said there have been no interactions between her and your daughter."

"Good. I'd hate to deal with her _permanently_ ," the man spoke, his voice serrated. Thoughts of the girl always triggered an olfactory memory within the man. The smell of the blood of his own kin. He hadn't inhaled the same pheromones since the manic day in front of the old Kandy Corporation headquarters. What a mess that was. His daughter was foolish - wasting a vial on that _temptress_.

"Continue to monitor the situation. Is that all, Sophia?" the man asked, downing his third glass with no apparent impairment setting in - an advantageous side effect of his hastened metabolism.

"Yes, sir. Pardon my interruption again," the woman apologised, making her way out of the villa's study, closing the walnut doors with a minor _click_.

* * *

 _February 15th 2016  
_

The sky was a pomegranate pink when Bonnie arrived at Nighto, the sun's setting being imminent. She greeted the people who were already done for the day as she called for the lift, her destination being her old cubicle. It felt strange, not having to come in the morning. Instead of the usual stiff routine of organizing Lenon's junk and the senseless dribble of work, her morning was actually pleasant for once, allowing herself the pleasure of reading fiction, along with learning a couple new recipes from Sam. Who knew a cajun seafood pasta would be so satisfying to make?

 _And so good…_

Sam had taken the news well too. Overjoyed, ecstatic, euphoric; he was all of them when Bonnie had broken the news. Although initially persistent, he had finally given in after an extensive talk, allowing Bonnie to contribute to the household's bills. She stated that it would be an absolute iniquity if she didn't help out, now that she had the finances to spare. Typical Sam.

Upon arrival at the fourth floor, Bonnie was surprised to see Finn and Jake, halfway across the room, squabbling with one another in the hallway, the blonde one making erratic hand gestures like that of an American-Italian actor. Finn noticed Bonnie as she approached, to which he broke into a dash towards her, grabbing her by the shoulders which made the redhead shriek.

"Ah! Finn! What are you-!?"

"I am _so so so_ sorry, Bonnie. Christ, I never...- I couldn't...- I didn't mean for this to happen. If I'd known that they'd find out, I would never have gotten you into this mess," Finn stammered, his head tucked forward.

Bonnie slowly grabbed the man's hands from her shoulders, lowering them to his sides before letting go. "Finn, slow down. What are you on about?"

"I got you fired… didn't I?"

"What?"

"There were these dudes that came this morning. They took all your stuff and shoved them into these boxes… then took 'em away. Plus, we didn't even see you this morning!" Finn exclaimed, the words tumbling from his mouth. "God, I'm sorry, Bonnie. I didn't think they'd be _this_ peeved off. I never should've put you on that short-list. Of course they'd wonder why an intern out of all people would be on it. I didn't think they'd rid of you on the spot! It's all my fault."

Bonnie sighed, a knowing smile on her face as she tried to reassure Finn's bumbling. "Finn, calm down, everything's fine. I didn't get fired. They actually _gave_ me the job."

"You… I… whaaa?" Finn said, dumbfounded.

Jake lightly chuckled, patting his brother on the back. "See? Told you it wasn't anything, bro. The girl just landed herself the promotion! Grats, Bonnie!"

Bonnie graced a smile, nodding to the younger brother. "Those guys in the morning? They're probably just moving my stuff up to the new place. Also, I didn't come in because, apparently, the new job is night work."

"You got the job? Oh, thank god," Finn said, relief evident in his tone. "I thought you got caught. Oh boy, I would never let this down if I got you fired, Bonnie. Man, they might've even caught on and found out I put you on that list!"

"I can do a lot of things, Finn - but, snitching isn't part of my repertoire."

"Hey, Finn," Jake began, grinning playfully. "Weren't you practicing that apology for like two hours?"

Finn punched his brother in the shoulder. "Shut up, bro."

"Heh," Jake laughed, rubbing his left shoulder to which Finn apologised. "Anyway, glad we got that cleared up. Finn was beating himself over this whole shebang the whole morning. How's the new work, Bonnie?"

Bonnie shrugged. "Not sure. I'm starting tonight."

"Wasn't it some sort of assistant thingy-ma-jiggy? Who's your boss?" Jake asked.

"I have an idea, but I'm not sure. All I know is that I got to head up to the hundred-forty-ninth floor at eight."

It still baffled Bonnie. The company Wikipedia page had stated that the building was a hundred and fifty floors… so whatever work happened just one floor below the absolute top must've been important. All the more reason to be on guard as to who could be up there, not wanting to spoil an impression to any very influential individuals.

"Woah. That is _high_ up. I don't think me and Jake have ever been past one twenty. Also… it's six right now," Finn said, pointing to his watch. "Why're you here so early?"

"Mmm… being early is a great way of making a good first impression. It's a neat trick to make people think you have things under control - even if on the inside, you're freaking out," Bonnie said with a wink. "I'm just going to scope the place out and get some bearings."

Finn nodded slowly with what looked like an envious amazement written on his face. "Wow, you sound like you always got everything figured out."

 _Hah, I wish._ "How was work? Did anything happen while I was gone?"

"Not really. Everyone's been keeping to themselves, actually. Probably because of that Pocket Monsters game that came out which - by the way - I haven't touched," Finn said, his posture straightening, prideful in his abstinence from the mobile trend.

"Jeez, get off your high horse, bro. It's a pretty sweet game, making people exercise for fun. It also got our folks talking again, so that's something," Jake said, smacking his brother again on the back, a little harder this time. "Anywho, Lenon was saltier than usual today."

"Yeah? Probably because he lost his _plaything_ ," Bonnie spoke, tongue-in-cheek.

"Plaything?" Jake asked, his head tilting to one side.

"Yeah. _Me_ ," Bonnie said, pointing to herself. "I e-mailed him on the weekend telling him I wouldn't come in today and made sure to include why. Didn't get a response but it doesn't take much to know that he's probably peeved off. I was doing most of the floor's work too, so he's probably got a bit more on his plate now that I'm gone."

"Good riddance. You deserve better, Bonnie," Finn stated, resting a hand on Bonnie's shoulder. "Say, how about we celebrate a little? Jake and I were just heading out for burritos. If you tag along, we'll be back by like seven, so you can do all your covert junk. Whatcha say?"

 _Oh, lord. Is this what I think it is?_

Bonnie had to, again, gently pull Finn's hand off her shoulder, still not used to the sudden physical contact men made. What was up with that, anyway? Was this part of the elusive 'bro code'? "Thanks, Finn, but no thanks. I'm not particularly fond of burritos."

 _Unless I'm the one that makes them._

Finn's chest tightened, the hand that was on Bonnie's shoulder just a moment ago rubbed the back of his head nervously. "All good! Yeah, all good, that's totally fine. It was stupid of me to ask if you wanted burritos, anyway. Totally dumb." His cheeks had become a flustered pink. "Uhhh… I guess we'll see you later then?"

"Definitely. I'll still come visit you guys. And who knows - maybe I'll run into some tech problems on the new job," Bonnie said, smiling with soft eyes.

Finn performed a couple of exaggerated nods, waved goodbye, then made his way to the elevator with a staggered gait in his step.

Jake came up to Bonnie, arms folded across his chest with a wide grin plastered across his cheeks, watching his brother walk to the lift. "Nice of you to let him down easy. Looks like you've had experience."

Bonnie turned to Jake, sharing a knowing look with the younger brother before looking back to Finn, who was already spamming the lift's call button on the other side of the floor. "If by experience you mean experience in turning people down, yes - I do have that. Finn's sweet, really, but… I'm not interested in relationships."

"Why's that?"

"Trust me when I say it wasn't anything bad, but I've just had… _difficulties_ with them before."

"Say no more, I totally get you," Jake put simply, earning an endearing smile from the ginger. "Did Finn tell you about the time I met this girl on this dating site? So awkward. The first time I went to a fancy restaurant. Couldn't even pronounce half the junk on the menu. I mean, what the heck is a _bow-illa-bass_?"

"Bouillabaisse," Bonnie corrected. "It's a French stew from Marseille. My uncle made it a couple of times during Winter."

"Wow, that's so wicked: living with someone who actually knows how to cook." Jake nodded to Finn who was ushering his brother to come over, most likely so they could hurry and get those burritos. "Finn just knows how to make PB n' J. He's had like four today already."

Bonnie smiled meekly, a thought passed by, that a significant percentage of the older brother's body mass could be made up of peanut butter and jelly. She couldn't blame him. Bonnie's had her fair share of the treat for those long studious nights. "I'll see you guys sometime this week, probably," she said.

"Alright. Peace out," Jake said, waving farewell before meeting up with his brother where he got another small jab to the shoulder. The pair boarded the lift, a soft _ding_ indicating their departure.

* * *

Marceline awoke to the sound of unrelenting knocks on the loft door, puffy eyelids letting in the weak shine of halogen light.

And, not to mention, a killer headache.

God, her head felt heavy. There was a dull yet pulsing throb, the kind you would get from sleep deprivation - or just terrible sleep quality. It was the latter for Marceline, her little escapade in escorting her childhood bestie being the cause of her insomnia, unable to get what she had learned out of her mind as she struggled to fall asleep.

 _Still a smartie... and still listening to the classics. Why am I not surprised?_

The incessant knocking was a tedious pounding in her skull as if a hammer had somehow made its way into its confines. It would be a blessing if she could just close her eyes for just a teensy moment longer. But, the knocking would not allow her.

 _Who the hell is here at this time?_

Marceline glanced over at the clock on her dresser, struggling to make out the digital numbers.

 _6:30pm!?_

It was almost a new record for the earliest wake-up call she's gotten. In the past, she had home appointments with Simon at six when the sun had just set, but she implored the man to push it further back, just so she could sleep in a bit. After a tireless back and forth exchange, Simon agreed to have them later, on the condition that Marceline started going to the gym. Some days she regretted her decision - when her body ached from head to toe - but on other days, she was grateful for it, because exercise really did somehow make you feel less depressed. It was also a great outlet for her powers.

 _So why the hell is Simon here now?_

She hadn't booked anything today...

Lazily, Marceline hovered out from under the warmth of her silk sheets, parting the bed's canopy before making her way to the front door, passing her recording room along the way to which she glanced inside through the glazed window. Her majestic grand piano lay dormant, its ivory keys begging to be played… but, Marceline hadn't the time. Not with the Board breathing down her neck – and definitely not with the stress of having her old friend being within the same building most days.

Marceline was a mess, her hair frizzed from the top down, which was strange considering that her head never touched the pillow when she slept. Must've been because of all the tossing and turning alone. As she reached the door, she opened it ajar, just enough so that she could peek her head out from behind it as she spoke in a sluggish tone.

"Ugh, Simon, what do you-"

The air died in Marceline's chest, her drowsiness having evaporated in an instant.

It was Bonnie, standing in the lone room one finds themselves in after exiting the lift on the hundred-forty-fourth floor. She looked exactly like the Friday night Marceline last saw her

"Um… hello?" Bonnibel said softly, eyebrow raised.

Marceline couldn't have shut that door faster if she'd tried. She put her back to the door, her feet landing on the ground as her eyes widened, double-checking the time with the clock on the far wall.

6:32pm.

She said eight last night, right? She did. She was sure. God, she did not have the state of mind to deal with this right now. The throbbing in her head became infinitely worse, coupled with an unexplainable increase in the thumping of her heart. She swiftly straightened her hair, her fingers a makeshift comb, rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands to get rid of the morning gunk, and took a heavy breath.

With timid fingers, Marceline opened the door again, leaving the gap a bit thinner than before. "Didn't I say eight?" she asked through the crack, eyeing the girl on the other side.

"Hello, Marceline," was the redhead's reply.

 _Crap._ Marceline's chest just ached whenever her name came from those saccharine lips.

"Why're you here?" Marceline asked again.

Bonnie shrugged. "Just wanted to see what would be up here on such a high floor. Didn't think I'd find my new boss here, though."

Marceline's eyes narrowed, her grip on the door tightened upon hearing the girl's words. "So you figured it out, huh?"

"That I'd be working for _you_? I actually _didn't_ know, but you just told me, so thanks for that."

 _Smart._

"I didn't know you lived here," Bonnie continued.

… _the fuck?_ "I have no idea what you're on about. Don't you see the room you're in? It's just a typical office."

"Sure, there's a desk and chair in _here_ – but… when you opened the door earlier, I saw a couch, a T.V., and I'm pretty sure there was a kitchen in there too," – Bonnie said, pointing behind Marceline - "and by the looks of it, you just woke up."

 _Too smart._

"How the hell would you know that?"

"Judging by the tussled hair and the strands in your fingers which you probably used to comb your hair just then. Also… you still got a bit of rheum in your lashes," Bonnie said, looking to the side.

Marceline abruptly brought her hand to her face, unconsciously inching behind the door further. "Fine, yes. I live at Nighto. What are you gonna do: Ridicule me? Pity me?"

Bonnie smiled those shiny, halo-white teeth. "No. Why would I do that? I think it's pretty cool - not having to travel far to work. Plus, you're living close to the top of the tallest building in Bathurst. If anything at all, I'd say I'm jealous."

"Pfft - if you say so."

"I do. May I come in?"

 _Yes, I want to show you so much - to tell you so much._

Marceline shook the rebel thoughts out of her head, bottoming out a frown. "Hell fucking no," was her response before shutting the door again, a little harder this time, and Marceline could just _picture_ the puppy-dog look of disappointment on Bonnie's face.

The midnight-haired girl stood idle, waiting for the sound of protests or any audible cue saying that Bonnie had up and left.

But no such sound came.

Only silence.

Marceline heaved a sighed. "You're still there aren't you?"

A blunt 'mhmm' could be heard from the other side.

"Don't tell me you're going to stand there for an hour," Marceline scoffed.

"It's do-able. I thought the floor would be much bigger and I had time to look around, but I guess this is it. I'll just wait, thank you," Bonnie said, her tone neutral.

 _Gah, is she trying to guilt-trip me? Is that what this is?_

Because if that's what she was trying to do… – intentional or not - it was working.

And Marceline hated herself for that.

Rolling her eyes, Marceline touched down onto the timber floor, kicking up small clouds of dust, her feet chilly from the lack of socks or hosiery of any kind. It'd been quite a while since she had to put her own legs down within the limits of her own place – mainly because she's never had anyone other than Simon or her father visit… since those were the only two who were allowed.

 _This is such a mistake._

"Fine. You want to see the place so bad?" Marceline said after faltering in her speech slightly. Again, she opened the door, swinging it wide such that the two girls were facing one another.

"Oh…" Bonnie murmured, quickly bringing a hand up to cover her eyes, her head turning away with a slight pink in her cheeks. "You um… you don't… um…" Her free hand pointed a finger at Marceline, causing the other girl to raise an eyebrow, unsure where the sudden timidness in Bonnie's speech was coming from.

"What?" Marceline asked, her eyesight following Bonnie's finger to discover that it was pointing at Marceline's lower-body.

 _Oh._

In her haste and lethargic state of mind, Marceline had forgotten that she'd _just_ woken up, wearing only her usual nightwear;

A single over-sized t-shirt that fell to her hips, leaving her porcelain legs bare.

* * *

 **A/N: 20k words in and some sighting of the actual plot? Woo! Thanks again to DiddlyPanda for beta-ing. Your readership and criticism are always appreciated :)**


	9. Chapter 9

_I don't own Adventure Time._

 **Chapter 9**

Around herself, Bonnie spied the junk from her old cubicle, ranging from her Peruvian apple cactus to the stainless steel stapler that she used to pinch herself with to stay awake, all packed into tight cardboard boxes that were strewn across the small office room. She twisted her lips. Honestly, it was a little disappointing. She'd thought walking onto the 149th floor would be an experience. It's not every day you got to be near the top of the tallest skyscraper in Bathurst. So where were the windows? The views of the city skyline?

Nope.

Just an almost bare room with a wood desk and an old-looking black chair.

Boring.

That's why Bonnie's interest was wholly peaked once she'd caught what was behind Marceline's door. It wasn't a drab office like the one she was standing in. It looked like a whole other world on the other side of that door.

 _And to think she lives there..._

Bonnie bit her bottom lip as she put her head down. She did feel slightly guilty – and a bit fearful – when she realized she had woken her boss. She had no idea that the girl's living space was on the other side of the inconspicuous door. Bonnie wasn't unfamiliar with a nocturnal sleep pattern - given her days at Blackwell – but surely the vice-president didn't need to adopt one. After all, she hardly worked at all.

Right?

The sound of the door creaking open caused Bonnie to look up, unsure of how she would react to another eyeful of what saw only moments before _._ A look of relief graced her features when she stood face-to-face with Marceline who, thankfully, had on her usual get-up of denim jeans and her iconic open flannel jacket. Any mental images of the vice-president's previous attire from before were quickly erased from Bonnie's memory.

Well… attempted to be erased, at least.

Marceline raised an arm, her eyes hidden behind the bangs of her lush hair as she gestured a mocking invitation for Bonnie to come in. The atmosphere was a tangible awkwardness as the redhead stepped through the open door. However, any awkward feelings within Bonnie, however, quickly evaporated as she breathed in her surroundings, her eyes widening with awe.

 _Holy moly._

The interior of the place wasn't just a whole other world.

It was a whole other _universe._

There was a huge openness to the room – no, 'room' wasn't the right word. It was a loft. The feel of the floor had changed from soft carpeting to the hardness of a dusty wooden sheen, white halogen lights blared from the ceiling, and there was a distinct scent that permeated throughout the air that smelled oddly of apple and…

… strawberries?

Funny. It smelled strangely familiar.

A grand white interior balcony lay above a kitchen, a pillar at its center. The chef in Sam would've fallen head-over-heels in love with the futuristic-looking fridge alone. As Bonnie stepped further inside, she peered further across the loft where she saw wooden steps, leading to the far side of the room which had a red velvety chaise lounge that spanned almost the entirety of the floor. On the wall across from the chaise, there wasn't a massive T.V., like she thought. It was actually a pitch-black curtain that draped the entire wall of the floor, the sun's dying rays could be seen just around the edges, suggesting there was a window on the other side. It took every ounce of willpower in Bonnie's body to not rush over and yank the cord besides the curtain that would open them.

"This place is amazing…" Bonnie said, her breath leaving her chest as she spoke.

"Oh, please," Marceline spoke. "You don't have to kiss my ass yet. Don't think you'll get promoted _again_ so soon."

"No, really. I've never seen someone live in such a huge space." Bonnie's voice echoed throughout the loft. "You really live here?"

"Uh... yes? Is that so hard to believe?" Marceline scoffed, leading Bonnie to the chaise in the middle of the room. "Sit. We're going to lay down some ground rules if we're going to make _this_ …" - she gestured between herself and Bonnie - "... work."

 _Straight to business, huh?_

Bonnie did as she was told, taking a seat on the lounge. The velvet cushioning couldn't have been more deceptive as the seat was actually firm as stone. Bonnie could help but notice Marceline must've been thinking the same thing as she sat on the opposite end a few feet away, looking cramped.

' _It's your couch. Why are you surprised that it's hard as bedrock?'_ Bonnie wanted to say.

"Rule number one," Marceline began, raising her right index finger. "You do _exactly_ what I say, when I say it. Got it?"

"I thought that was standard between an assistant and their employer."

Marceline shook her head, her long hair swaying from side-to-side as she did so. "No. When I say 'exactly', I mean _exactly_. In _and_ out of work. No arguing, no comments, no questions. You do _everything_ I tell you. Understand?"

"Okay..." Bonnie replied, an eyebrow raised at the woman's assertiveness, unsure whether this was a violation of several human rights or not.

… _Didn't quite take her as a control freak._

"Good." Marceline propped her legs onto the couch to which the tension in Bonnie's neck grew, an image of the white skin under the woman's denim briefly flashed in Bonnie's mind. "Rule number two…" the vice-president continued. raising another finger, her eyes narrowed as her expression became serious. "... Don't _ever_ lie to me."

"Wouldn't dream of it. I'm not one to lie, anyway."

"Great. Then we'll have no problems. Break one of those rules, and you're gone." Bonnie could feel the daggers Marceline's stare emitted. "Let's pick up where we left off then."

"Pick up where we left off what?" Bonnie asked, confused.

"The interview. You may have gotten the job, but there's still some questions that we have to go through - and we didn't get to them because… well…"

"You decided to cut the interview short?" Bonnie put lightly.

"Yeah, that's a nice way to say you pissed me off so I told you to get out." Marceline twirled the loose ends of her ebony hair with a finger. "Which was a bit brash, now that I think back to it. So - you're going to answer me these things with rule number one and two in mind, got that, princess?"

 _Princess? Princess!? The nerve on this girl…_

Bonnie returned an uneasy smile of her own as she nodded.

"What was your time like at Blackwell Academy?" Marceline asked.

 _Okay, well, this is an easy question._

"It was a school, and I studied there. The grounds were well equipped and the faculty were all very welcoming. There's not much more to say," Bonnie replied, hoping to have avoided the underlying question.

"That's not what I asked. I said, what was _your_ time like there? Did you like it?"

 _Gosh… do I really need to be a hundred percent honest with these?_

Bonnie sighed. Seemed like there were just _some_ things she couldn't escape from no matter where she went. "It wasn't… the best part of my life. So, no - my experience at Blackwell wasn't the best. I didn't want to go to Blackwell in the first place. There, is that what you wanted to hear?" Bonnie spoke, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

"Thought so. You didn't seem like the Blackwell type."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You don't seem very much to be the business sort of person. You look more of a girl who's into… math or science junk."

 _How would she-... How would she know that!?_

Marceline looked Bonnie up and down to which Bonnie turned away, not wanting to look back into that piercing stare. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"... Fine, yes. I'm more of a science person than a business person. I would've much rather gone somewhere that had more emphasis on neurology or medicine than numbers and money."

"So why'd you go then?" Marceline asked, beginning to look mildly interested.

"Because…" Bonnie had to close her eyes, biting her tongue a little at her next words. "That's what my parents wanted for me, before they passed that is… - the trust fund was set up for Blackwell. They thought that I would see more success in business rather than researching god knows what." A feeling of sorrow stabbed Bonnie in the chest at the very mention of her mother and father.

"I see." Marceline stopped twiddling her hair, her finger still looped with a few strands of it. "We can't get everything we want," she said, resting a hand under her chin with a bored look.

"You're… not going to ask?" Bonnie asked.

"About what?"

"My parents. Usually, whenever I mention it, people always ask what happened to them."

"Jeez, I _could_ ask... but come on _._ Even _I_ know some things are better left unsaid," Marceline replied, rolling her eyes. "I know what it feels like when people ask stupid shit," she said, this time with a softer tone.

Bonnie quirked her head to the side, an old habit when something odd peaked her interest. It was as if Marceline was being... sympathetic. But that couldn't be the case, could it? Were Abadeers even capable of such feeling?

"Alright next question," Marceline said, resuming her hair twirling, "... you don't have to answer this one. So I'm giving you a choice here."

 _What sort of question needs a choice of needing an answer or not?_

"Back at the interview, when Simon - the shrink next to me - was doing that word-for-word biz with you… he gave you the word 'memories'."

 _Oh no._

"Why was 'lost' the first thing that came to mind?" Marceline asked.

 _Damn it._

This was probably the one thing Bonnie didn't want to talk about with anyone other than those really close to her. Mostly because the people she divulged her past to just took it the wrong way. Amnesia? That was just a trope used in badly-written sitcoms or superhero skits. It wasn't real. People only claim to have amnesia when they're going through a rough patch in life, looking for an excuse for others to pity them. It's fake.

But not for Bonnie.

She needed not be reminded that the condition was, in fact, real.

 _Very_ real.

Others just treated Bonnie differently once they'd found out. That she was different, an outcast, a reject labeled as mentally unfit.

Her silence had told Marceline more than enough as the vice-president stood, a hand placed on her hip. "Fine. You don't have to say anything. I was just wondering was all." She began walking towards the kitchen.

"I have amnesia," Bonnie whispered, to which she immediately cupped a hand over her mouth.

 _Stupid! Why did I say that!?_

For a split second, Bonnie had let her guard down, and that was all it took for her to blurt out the summary of her childhood. Why? She would never talk about this with someone she barely knew, so why did it feel like telling the girl in front of her felt so… okay?

Marceline stopped mid-stride. She turned to look Bonnie dead in the eyes, the ex-intern expecting a swift ridicule to come from the woman's lips.

But nothing came.

Bonnie could've sworn that from the slight arch in the other girl's brow could've meant she was even feeling... sad.

"Oh, makes sense," Marceline said, the sad look on her face gone in an instant. "How'd that happen?" Bonnie was just taken by surprise at the girl's totally nonchalant reaction.

"I… don't know the specifics. The earliest thing I remember was waking up in a hospital bed." _What are you saying!? You don't have to tell her this!_ But, Bonnie had an overcoming urge to keep on talking - and she still had no idea why. "The doctors said I'd suffered a concussion. It was only when I asked them what my name was did they realize something was wrong."

Marceline sat back down, now looking genuinely interested in what Bonnie had to say. "What'd they say?" she asked gently.

"After a bunch of brain scans, they said it was post-traumatic amnesia and not some sort of short-term thing." Bonnie unconsciously brought a hand to the back of her head, unweaving her hair so that she could place a finger on the healed scar that she'd gotten from so long ago. "I had a pretty big gash on the back of my head, although they don't know what caused it. One of the nurses said a man in a suit had dropped me off at the emergency ward that night before disappearing."

 _And I still have no idea who that was…_

Marceline clenched her jaw as she shifted uncomfortably on the couch, whether it was from the hardness of the chaise or the personal details she was listening to, Bonnie did not know. "So… how old were you when it happened?"

"Twelve. I forgot everything about myself before then. What my name was, where I lived, where I went to school, what year it was..."

 _Who my parents were..._

 _Who my friends were… if I even had any._

"... all gone."

Bonnie had to hide her frown, tucking her head as she squeezed her eyes shut, the threat of a stray tear falling from the edge of one of her eyes. She wouldn't be able to handle the embarrassment of bawling her eyes out in front of her boss. All she had after that day was Sam, although he too was a complete stranger then.

"Hmm, is that why you were such a nerd at Blackwell? Because all that junk you learned had more space to fill in that head of yours?" Marceline asked, the left side of her lip tugged upwards.

Bonnie's frown slowly turned into a smile, a warm feeling bubbled in her chest as she brought a hand to her mouth as she tried to smother a nervous laugh. A few seconds later, Bonnie had to wipe an eye with the back of her hand, her skin becoming moist not with the tears of dejection, but with tears of skittish laughter. Marceline seemed to be proud of her little joke as well as her smile remained.

"You're the first," Bonnie said, still stifling a giggle.

"The first to what?" Marceline asked.

"The first not to tell me that I'm just faking it for attention, or to suddenly become over pitying. I told my friends at Blackwell once - well, people who I _thought_ were my friends - and they just never spoke to me again. They all just looked at me differently since."

"Sounds like you had some pretty shitty friends," Marceline said, shrugging before standing again. It was a rough way of putting it, but Bonnie knew that Marceline was right. "Want anything to drink? I don't have much besides water and strawberry juice," she said, walking back to the kitchen.

 _Strawberry juice? That's a new one._

Bonnie shook her head at the girl's offer before sharing another smile with her boss. At this moment, a thought engrossed Bonnie's mind. The girl in front of her wasn't the oppressive tyrant Finn and Jake had made her out to be. Then again, the brothers' information came purely from rumors and gossip. Out of all people, Bonnie should know gossip and rumors never made good sources.

She was just a normal girl like Bonnie. She just had a different lifestyle, a different upbringing, a different perspective. Mayhaps in another universe, the two could've been close friends…

The clinking of glass could be heard from the kitchen, presumably Marceline pouring herself a beverage. Bonnie stood to walk over to the rope that hung from the vast black curtain. She used her knuckles to knock on the dark cloth, the soft thud of glass confirmed her initial thoughts - on the other side there was a large window. Excitedly, Bonnie grasped the yellow rope that would undoubtedly draw the curtains apart, revealing a picturesque view of Bathurst's skyline.

 _Why would she keep this closed?_

"Hey, what are you-"

Bonnie had only just heard Marceline as she pulled the golden rope with a soft tug. In moments, the midnight drapes on the wall had furled to the opposite corners, the iron rings holding the curtain clattering loudly, revealing what Bonnie had originally hoped to see when she had stepped foot onto Nighto's 149th floor.

 _Wow…_

On the horizon, Bonnie could see the warm painted seabed of the setting sun, her skin became warm at the star's touch. Solar amber limbs trickled from the sky into the loft, a subdued yellow glow mixed with the whiteness of the interior's halogen lights. The scene was something that people from the ground would have to travel to the very edges of Bathurst to only get a glimpse of.

The view painted a mood that was - Bonnie dared to think - romantic.

Alas, the mood didn't fit her company. Speaking of whom, Bonnie had turned, hoping to ask Marceline why she would even think of keeping such a dazzling view obscured.

However, the vice-president was nowhere to be seen, despite the fact that she was standing in the kitchen only a few seconds ago.

"Marceline...?" Bonnie called out.

Bonnie's ears picked up the sound of sharp shallow breaths emanating from the kitchen. She was cautious, taking slow steps towards it. When she rounded the enormous white pillar that held the balcony up, her foot had almost collided with the blue of Marceline's jeans. The girl was sitting with her back glued against the kitchen island, a bead of sweat on her forehead, a hand holding her cheek. Shards of a drinking glass lay scattered around; a red liquid was splashed across the kitchen's marble tiles to which Bonnie hoped to assume was the strawberry juice Marceline had mentioned.

"Jesus! Are you okay?" Bonnie asked, perturbed by the scene.

"Close it," Marceline murmured, her breathing still shallow.

"Huh?"

"Rule number one. Do as I say. Close the curtain."

 _She's surrounded by broken glass and all she can think about is those stupid rules!?_

"But… why? You're probably the only one in Bathurst who gets an epic view like-"

"I said close it!" Marceline exclaimed, causing Bonnie to jump back.

The redhead swallowed, a lump had formed in her throat. Bonnie didn't understand. Was it something she'd said? Was it because she opened the curtain without permission? But Bonnie didn't feel anger or frustration coming from Marceline. It was something about the way she'd yelled. It wasn't out of anger. Her voice had a tint of… fear.

… _the heck!? All I did was open a curtain!_

Why would that make her scared? It was when Bonnie shifted her eyes to the girl's cheek did something register within her. Something was wrong. Under the woman's hand, Bonnie could see that the vice-president's cheek had turned from its usual paleness to a dark red pigment. A classic sign of...

 _Oh crud. How could I not have noticed...?_

Wasting no time, Bonnie rushed back to the curtain, almost tripping herself over as she tugged on the rope with more force than before, unfurling the black sheets which quickly cut off the city skyline and - more importantly -... the sun's rays. With the task done, Bonnie hurried back to Marceline, kneeling down beside her as the two stared at each other in silence, the fear gone from Marceline's face as she winced in pain, rubbing her cheek with her palm.

"I didn't know, I'm sorry," Bonnie apologized, wanting to help but unsure of what to do.

"Didn't know what!? That you can't touch other people's stuff without saying anything!?" Marceline spat.

"That you had photodermatitis. I should've known."

"Photoderma-what-now?"

"Photodermatitis - an allergy to the sun." It made so much sense. Every single time Bonnie met with Marceline, it was always night. That first time they met on the fourth floor, the interview being scheduled so late, and the woman's sleep pattern. All pointed to photodermatitis. Judging by how fast Marceline's skin changed, Bonnie could assume that her boss had a very acute case of it as well. "I'm _so_ sorry."

If she got fired right at this moment, Bonnie wouldn't consider it unjust. After all, she did just give Marceline a bright red spot on the cheek that probably wouldn't fade in a while.

There was silence for a minute. It was Marceline's exhale that broke the quiet.

"It's fine," she said.

Bonnie lifted her head, her expression crossed between confusion and relief. "You're… not going to-"

"Fire you? No. I don't want to interview another bunch of Trumps talking about how much money they make just so I have to replace you." Marceline stood, surveying the mess on the floor, her hand still cupped to the side of her face. "Just… do one thing for me?"

"Anything, yes."

"Don't touch my shit without my say?"

"Yes, of course, I was just… I'm sorry."

"Great. Let's make that rule three."

Marceline flouted a half-smile of acknowledgment, making her way towards a glass door on the west-most side of the loft which Bonnie presumed was the bathroom. Guilt gnawed at her conscience as she watched Marceline walk with a hand still pressed to her cheek.

"I'm going to deal with _this_ ," Marceline said, pointing with her free hand to her face and then to the mess on the kitchen floor. "This might take a while. So… I think it's best if you just wait outside. Unpack your junk. I'll be out when I'm done."

Bonnie nodded, quickly making her way back to the front door before turning back around before leaving the loft, wanting to apologize one more time for her lack of thought for her cursed desire to see what was behind that curtain. But, Marceline had already disappeared into the bathroom, to which Bonnie frowned at herself once again, making her way back into the small office that marked the entrance to the vice-president's loft.

She let out a deep sigh.

An allergy to the sun.

God, she should've known.

It was so obvious.

* * *

 _That was way too fucking close..._

It was a miracle that Bonnie hadn't noticed Marceline dash through the air when the curtains were drawn, her feet having never touched the ground. Her inhuman reaction time allowed her to make it behind the kitchen island and to the safety of its shade.

Alas, the exposed skin on her cheek had been kissed by the sun's light for the minutest of moments, making its mark.

Marceline splashed cold water from the tap's basin onto her face, the red patch that was there only a second ago already begun to turn back to its usual color. She let out a small gasp as she touched it again.

 _Hate it when this happens..._

It had been a while since she last got burned. It was always a weird feeling for a few months, as if the nerves under the burned skin had become hyper-sensitized.

She couldn't imagine what it would feel like if one of her hands were exposed...

All of a sudden, Marceline's phone buzzed in her pocket, the pentatonic scale being her usual ringtone. She pulled out to check the caller's ID.

It was Simon.

She answered it, bringing her phone up to the ear opposite her reddish cheek.

"Evening, Marceline!" Simon greeted. "Honestly, I'm surprised you're awake at all. Usually I'd get ignored at this time…"

"Simon, something just hap-"

"Now I know you're excited to work with Ms. Beesley..."

"That's the thing. She was just-"

"But there're a couple things I have to inform you first," Simon continued, completely ignoring the girl's words. Marceline just rolled her eyes, surrendering to the fact that when Simon wanted to say something, he would always go first. "I'm sure you're aware that when working with Ms. Beesley, you wouldn't want to give away any hints towards your erm… condition."

 _Whelp. Too late for that._

"Uh… yeah. About that."

"Hmm? Something wrong?"

"She was actually here a minute ago. She got here _way_ earlier than I thought so I let her into the loft. Just to kill some time. Long story short; she opened the curtains and I got a nice little gift from Mr. Sun on my cheek here."

There was silence on the other end for what felt like a full minute or so. Marceline had to pull the phone away from her ear to check the screen, making sure Simon hadn't hung up.

"Simon? You still there?" Marceline asked.

"Yes, I am," he replied, his voice lower than usual. "That was a particularly unsafe thing to do, Marceline."

"Relax, I got a little burned. So what? It'll get better in like a few hours."

"No. Not dangerous for _you_. Dangerous for the _girl_. If she had found out about your… condition, do you have any idea how fast your father would-"

"Stop. I don't want to hear it. Don't you think I know this already?"

"Of course you do. That's why it was a well-thought out plan for you to welcome her into your home with open arms, correct?"

"Save your sarcasm, Simon. She didn't even think for one second that I'm a vampire. She thinks I have… uh… erm… dammit. What the hell did she say? Photo-dermia or some shit?"

"Photodermatitis?"

"That's the one."

"Oh, then that's a relief. It's a good thing she's still pinned you for a human. But please, do try and be a little bit more careful next time, would you?"

"Yessss, Simonnnn," Marceline said mockingly.

"Hmm, I'm curious," Simon continued. "When Ms. Beesley was in the loft, did she take a look at the piano?"

"What? No. She didn't even see my recording room."

"Well, that's unfortunate. I hypothesized that perhaps one a performance of yours could trigger some sort of episodic memory retrieval within Ms. Beesley."

"Um… English, please?"

"If she listened to you playing, she might be able to remember something about her past. Sort of like how milder memory loss patients can remember things from specific cues like a smell or the faces of loved ones."

Marceline scratched her chin for a second. "No. I doubt she'd remember anything. She's already listened to me play through Mercy's radio when I took her home a couple nights ago. She turned the thing on when I left one of my CDs in it."

 _I should really find a better place to leave those._

"Mercy?" Simon asked.

"My car."

"Oh yes, that's right. So, no signs of remembrance when she heard you play?"

"Nothing. She didn't say anything. Except…" _That she thought whoever was playing was really good…_ "Never mind. I spoke to her already. She says she remembers _nothing_ before that day."

"Hmm… interesting. Looks like the amnesia is a much deeper variation than those from the case studies I've read..." Simon said, pondering a thought. "Well, enough of that. There's something else I must inform you."

"What?"

"I'm sure you're aware that the annual Bathurst Gala is approaching."

"Yeah? So? Dad's going to handle that crap. I've never bothered with it."

"That's the problem. I received a call from Sophia the other day - who I told that Ms. Beesley's still under Garb's jurisdiction, just to keep things on the lay low - and she regretted to inform me that your father wouldn't be able to represent Nighto for this year's Gala due to business."

 _What._

"I'm sure you understand what this means," Simon went on.

 _Wait._

 _No._

 _He can't seriously mean-_

"He doesn't seriously expect _me_ to represent the company, does he!?" Marceline yelled into her phone.

Simon chuckled on the other end, putting Marceline a little over the edge. "Yes, that's what he wants, apparently. He says that now would be a good time for you to show him how committed you are to company dealings, which includes competing at this year's gala."

"This is bullshit! I don't know how to play that… that… _stupid_ game!"

"Ahh, but not to worry," Simon said happily. "You have an assistant - and a smart one at that - who can teach you everything about the game! It _is_ a game of math and statistics, after all."

Marceline huffed a snarl. "You're having way too much fun with this, Simon."

"I have no idea what you mean," Simon said sarcastically, and Marceline could just imagine the beaming grin on the balding man's face. "I must be off now, patients to attend to and what not. Good luck, and remember, Ms. Beesley can be of tremendous help to you."

"But I-"

A long dial tone was the only thing Marceline could hear from the phone's speaker as Simon had hung up. Every fiber within Marceline just wanted to hurl her phone at the shower's glass panel, infuriated with the fact that her father expected her to represent the company at the this year's annual gala.

There was no way she could win _that_ game. She'd tried many times to learn how to play, but to no avail. She just didn't have the know-how or the cunning. So how the hell was she supposed to win? There was no doubt in Marceline's mind that if she didn't win, Hunson would be back from Dubai faster than she could say 'I am _so_ fucked'.

She remembered that one time she'd accidentally put an extra zero in the company's financial reports last year. Her father had come back from the Bahamas to purely give a week-long lecture on the importance of cross-checking. What a crap Summer that was.

The last thing Marceline needed was for him to come back and discover that not only had she been conversing with Bonnie, but the two were actually _working_ with one another now.

The vice-president let out a long frustrated moan, slamming a fist down onto the ceramic bench in front of her, nearly cracking the basin. She had to win this year's gala. She _had_ to. No way was she dealing with her father if he were to come back.

However, if she wanted a chance, she needed someone to teach her the game.

Luckily for Marceline, Simon was right about one thing.

There was someone she _knew_ who could help...

... and they were standing right outside her loft.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, that was longer than I thought. Anyone hazard a guess to the gala's game? :P**

 **Thanks to DiddlyPanda for the beta. Reviews and crits are always appreciated!**


	10. Chapter 10

_I don't own Adventure Time._

 **Chapter 10**

 _19th February 2016_

Having an ex-chef of an uncle had spoilt Bonnie, causing her to dissect every Western cuisine she came across. She picked at the vinaigrette-less salad in front of her with a dull plastic spork. The old-style burger joint she and the Mertens were sitting in felt like it could have been straight out of a neo-noir film, but maybe that was because of the stereotypical checkered flooring and the '80s jukebox lying dormant in the corner.

It had been too long since Bonnie had something on her schedule that involved friends rather than a trip to the Dean of Blackwell's office, or to Lenon's hellish cell. Bonnie remembered the small gatherings she and her Blackwell friends had. Well, ex-friends now. Each one of them had become a distant memory, and - unfortunately - each a part of Bonnie's oldest recollectable ones.

She did have a couple relationships with some of the boys there, each one subsequently having been sent packing when Bonnie made her position on their sexual advances clear. The worst one had to be in her junior year.

Derek had been older than Bonnie by a handful of years, but he was well-built, tall, sculpted and had a calm demeanor about him that made Bonnie feel safe. Untamed black hair covered most of his face, and he was known by most to be very masculine and refined. The first month or so of dating, Derek had been gentlemanly, going out of his way to make Bonnie feel like she was all that mattered in his world. Even Sam had a high opinion of the man when Derek brought Bonnie home from the theaters or a Blackwell Tigers game. He was one of the few people Bonnie had told about her amnesia to and - like the gentleman he was - he kept his mouth shut, understanding of the girl's feelings. At first, he thought it was an elaborate joke, but as Bonnie explained, his smile had faded.

She could've seen herself settling down with him, living as a lavish wife to a possible future upstate banker or oil tycoon.

Alas, it didn't take much to break Derek's polished facade.

An end-of-term party had Derek and Bonnie at one of the other student's mansions, their parents out on holiday and likely unaware that their child was holding one of the biggest house parties of the calendar year. By midnight on the day, Derek's breath had been stained with a nefarious quantity of liquor, his breath was foul with the poison when he had tried to force Bonnie, force her into giving up what little security she had left of herself.

She was sixteen.

But she wouldn't let him. She wouldn't let him _steal_ from her. No, her purity was reserved for herself and perhaps someone else someday, somewhere, some other time. Bonnie broke up the relationship right then and there. Sure, she may have had to walk the whole two-hour journey back home, but at least her pride and dignity remained intact.

By the beginning of next term, however, Derek had already done the damage, spreading enough rumors to permanently destroy any reputation Bonnie had. After all, who would question Derek and the words that came out of his perfectly-cast jaw?

The lies had reached Bonnie's ears the moment she stepped foot back onto campus that semester.

They said she was deranged.

That she was a floozy.

That she had taken on an affair behind Derek's back.

That she was an amnesia-ridden psychopath who only wanted Derek for his future inheritance.

Lies. All of them.

But lies were easily believed when the mouth that spewed them was fraudulently respected.

Human contact had been sparse for Bonnie for the past several years, so it was all the more enjoyable when Finn and Jake had invited her out for an afternoon snack. A platonic afternoon, Finn had reassured.

"I can't believe your boss is the vice-prez," Finn said, taking another sloppy bite out of his Americano burger.

"Yeah, I can't really believe it myself," Jake agreed, chomping on a handful of fries.

"It's not that big of a deal," Bonnie said. "It's just a job like any other."

"Yeah, but you're working with an Abadeer! They're pretty much aliens living in Bathurst. It's not every day you get to see them - yet, you get to see one like every day."

"My boss isn't a zoo exhibition, Finn. She's a normal person, like you or me."

"Hah! Not sure about that. Don't 'cha reckon being in a rich, old family would mess with your head? Like, how come they never talk in public? Or why we never see them around except in photos?" He stopped chewing, pondering his own question. "You're working with an Abadeer, Bonnie. Got any clues?"

 _Photodermatitis. Most likely genetic and from a dominant allele within the family._

"No idea," Bonnie lied. It would be wrong to just tell everyone about her boss' medical condition. How would she feel if someone just told everyone about her amnesia? "Marceline's not as bad as she seems. She may act like a spoilt child every now and then, but..."

"But what?"

She wasn't a spoilt child. Intentional or not, Marceline had done more than one good deed for Bonnie. The time she had forced Lenon to give Bonnie some much needed space, the ride home in the pouring rain after a botched interview, and the fact that Bonnie had even received a new job; all pointed to the feeling that Marceline's temperament was just a thickened mask.

"... I don't know. Forget what I said. How's your burger, Finn?" Bonnie asked, quickly changing the subject.

" _Prehhdahhrrguud,_ " he said, his mouth full of the sandwich.

Bonnie brought a hand to her mouth, holding back a giggle. Even though she didn't see Finn in an amorous manner, she had to admit the man did have a cute, boyish charm. "Anything else happen while I've been gone?" she asked.

"Meh, not much. Lenon's looking for a new lackey to pin all his work on. Hats off to whoever that's going to be," Jake said. "Stuff's been getting real busy around the floor, lately. People are actually e-mailing us for help now. Must be because we don't have you around the floor anymore, 'ey Bon?"

"Perhaps," Bonnie said with a grin.

"That reminds me, I've got to ask," Finn said, tossing his burger wrapper onto the table. "What's Marceline like? Is she a better boss than Lenon?"

"She's better than Lenon, that's for sure. She doesn't bark at you or make you work for days straight. I think I've actually had my first week of proper sleep in a long time." _Even if I have to sleep a bit into the day._ "She's… different." Bonnie resumed picking at her salad with a neutral expression.

The two brothers looked at one another. "Different? How so?" Finn asked.

"There's just something about her I can't put my finger on…"

 _Something… so familiar._

The jittering vibrations of Bonnie's phone on the diner's marble table interrupted her thoughts. She picked the thing up to see she'd received a text from the boss herself.

'My office. Now,' the text read.

'Omw,' Bonnie replied.

'What? I don't know speak nerd, princess.'

'It means 'on my way'.'

'Oh. Sure.'

She shoved the phone back into her skirt's pocket before standing from the table. "Sorry guys, I have to go. Business and all."

"Woah, woah, you're leaving already?" Finn asked.

"Yeah. Marceline wants me at the office and, unfortunately for me, I agreed to some very _strict_ rules which basically strips me of my freedom from disagreeing with her."

 _Why the blimp did I agree to those..?_

"Yikes, sounds rough. Tell you what, Jake and I could give you a ride there. It's on the way back to our place so it'd be no biggie."

"Really? That'd actually be a big help," Bonnie replied, smiling at the brother's kind offer.

The sooner she got there, the better. She wouldn't want to tarnish her relationship with her boss any further.

* * *

"Finn. Dude. Check it out," Jake said from the back seat of the car, pointing to something through the windshield.

Finn's jaw lost its hinges as it dropped to the floor, his hands slipped from the steering wheel as he ogled the metal beast in front of him. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked, wide-eyed. "No way. _No way_. I didn't even know there was one in Bathurst." He waggled a finger out the driver's window. "That right there's a Murciélago."

The trio had stopped in front of Nighto's skyscraper. Marceline's blood-red car was parked right in front of them - in a no stopping zone too, unsurprisingly. The woman herself was leaned up against the car's bonnet, engrossed in her phone.

Amazingly, she had changed her outfit. Instead of her usual college-like attire, she had herself on a thick, black turtleneck with a pair of charcoal mittens adorning her hands. Her jeans had been replaced with an inky circle skirt and with the stockings to match.

 _And what was up with the red beanie and scarf? It's like ninety degrees out here._

Oh yeah, that's right.

The photodermatitis.

A single patch of skin didn't remain uncovered over Marceline's entire body. Her eyes were even shaded behind a pair of gold-rimmed aviators.

What was she doing out in the afternoon sun?

Bonnie was just about to inform Finn whose car they were leering at, but the man had already put the car into park and hopped out the driver's side, taking long strides towards what, Bonnie assumed, was the man's childhood dream car. Bonnie turned around to see Jake had slammed the passenger door shut, following right on the tail of his older brother.

 _Oh boy._

The seatbelt around Bonnie refused to budge. She had only managed to get out of the car after shaking the darn thing off before speeding up into a light jog towards Marceline and the two brothers. When she had caught up to Finn, the man had already opened his mouth.

"Excuse me, eskimo-looking miss. I've got to say, you've got one epic set of wheels," Finn said.

Bonnie dropped her forehead into her hand. If her boss weren't wearing those sunglasses right now, she swore her eyes would have embers in them.

"What did you just say?" Marceline asked. Her voice was muffled by the thick scarf around her face. She couldn't see her boss' expression, but Bonnie could taste the irritation in Marceline's tone.

Attempting to defuse a potential bomb, Bonnie sided up to Marceline, leaning in to whisper in her ear. "He's saying he likes your car."

The rising stiffness in Marceline's shoulders visibly loosened before she turned to the taller blonde man. "Whatever," she said simply, waving Finn off before walking over to Mercy's side door.

Before Finn could open his mouth to say god-knows-what, Bonnie put on a highly-strung look, slowly mouthing out the words, _'that's her.'_

' _Who?'_ Finn mouthed back, his brow furrowed at Bonnie's soundless speech.

' _Marceline.'_

Finn dropped his keys with a startle, the metal made a scraping sound on the concrete walkway. Jake remained composed, only letting out a little cough, as if unsurprised by the identity of the car's owner. With his eyelids wide-open, Finn's eyes darted between Mercy and the woman who was dressed way too much for the warm weather. He let out a nervous laughter before picking up his keys.

"Say, Jake, we best be on our way, hey?" he stammered, rubbing the back of his head.

"Sure, whatever you say, bro," Jake said with a bob of his head.

"Y-yeah. We'll catch you later, Bonnie," Finn said, his keys jingling slightly from the tremors in the hand holding them. The Mertens climbed back into their car. The exhaust coughed out a fume of black smoke before the pair disappeared down the city district.

"Who the heck were those two?" Marceline asked after a pause.

"They're my friends from when I was on the fourth floor."

"Pfft. Friends? You? I swear from what I've seen this past week; the only friend you'd make with is a calculator."

"Now that you mention it, I did pretend my calculator was a friend in freshman year. I named it Joey."

"What, really?"

"No, not really."

The vice-president rolled her eyes as she swiveled the passenger door open. "Get in," Marceline said.

"What are we doing outside?" Bonnie asked.

 _And in the sun..?_

Her question remained unanswered as Bonnie tucked her head down to fit into the obnoxiously low vehicle. Marceline had already made her way around the car to the driver's seat, pulling off the scarf around her face once she was within the confines of her car's over-tinted windows. The… tinted windows. Oh, it made sense.

 _Her cheek's healed well… or is that just foundation?_

No, there weren't any brush marks. The vice-president's ailment seemed to be a fast-healing phenotype of some sort. Interesting.

After a few seconds, the ferocious roar of the car's engine came to life, drowning out any chance of an audible conversation between the pair. It was only when they were cruising down a drawn-out stretch of city road did Marceline speak.

"What do you know about the Bathurst Gala?" she asked, setting the car's engine into a lulled revving.

"The… Bathurst Gala?" Bonnie asked, quirking an eyebrow at the question.

 _Why would she ask about that?_

"What do you know about it?" Marceline asked again.

The Bathurst Gala. Most had heard of it. Few knew exactly why it was held, or the specifics to its exclusive guest list. She knew it was an annual event where some of the most influential businessmen and women from across the country gathered. The city's grand resort on the coast served as the event's host, providing luxury that a majority of the populace would never have been able to afford. In the past, Bonnie had only read speculations as to the activities that occurred on the night of the Gala – but, there was just too much secrecy surrounding the event's purpose to get any solid information. Not to mention there was always an army of security surrounding the resort to stop the riff-raff from interrupting anything.

"It's something that happens every year on the city's coast. A formal event, I think. The news always showed some big names coming to Bathurst around the time of the Gala. But…"

"Nobody knows why?" Marceline said, finishing Bonnie's thoughts.

"Yes. Nobody knows why they come here."

"I do."

"Huh?"

"I know why - and before you guess, it's not because they're doing shady biz or dealing in black-market junk. The whole thing's held for one thing. A game."

"A… game?"

"Yeah. Poker."

… _Poker? The card game!?_

"You're telling me that some of the biggest people across the states meet up _here_ every year, in Bathurst, just to gamble?" Bonnie asked.

"Oh, please. It's not about the money. The prize pool may go into the nine figures range, but that's pocket change to these people. They only care about who wins because of the _status_ that comes with it. Most of the players come from multinational corps so that if they win, their name will be at the top of everyone's shortlist for future business."

It was a primitive doctrine, but it made sense. Poker; it was a game of risk, reward, luck and lies, perfectly synonymous with the practices of business. It was a crude indicator showing that whichever company won, they were the ones with the superior financial prowess.

"How do you know all this?" Bonnie asked.

"Because," Marceline began, a sigh leaving her chest, "my dad's been winning this game for the past four decades. He tried teaching it to me, but I honestly just didn't give a shit. But this year... he can't make it. He said he's busy doing some important crap halfway around the world. So…"

"He's making you take his place?" Bonnie asked, receiving an earnest nod from Marceline. "Wow, that's quite a bit of pressure."

"No shit. That's why I need _your_ help."

"Excuse me?"

"Let's face it. If I've got any chance of winning this thing, you need to teach me. You're a total math whizz from what I've seen. You sorted like a year's worth of balance sheets in a couple days."

"It wasn't really that difficult."

"Don't give me that modest bullshit. I know you're smart so don't play it off. You're going to help me because that's going to be your job for the next fortnight."

Marceline was right. The past week had Bonnie wanting to fall asleep on her new desk. One could only stare at numbers and spreadsheets for so long until their sanity snapped, so maybe this could be a change of pace. Teaching a game for work? Heck, most people would do anything for a job like that. What did she have to lose?

"Alright, I'll do it. I'll help you win at your little game."

"Of course you will, because I told you to," Marceline said with a smirk. "Rule one, remember?"

 _Ugh, I wasn't thinking right when I agreed to those…_

"Will you at least answer me one thing, please?" Bonnie asked.

"What?"

"Where are we going?"

Being out in the afternoon sun, the vice-president must've had a reason for the little excursion the two were taking.

"Like you said, the Gala's a formal shindig, and I need you there with me. So we're getting you something to wear," Marceline said casually.

"… Come again?"

"You're coming with me to this thing whether you like it or not. I need your help on the day too."

"No, no, I meant the second part. Did you say you're getting me something to wear?"

"Mhmm, I doubt you own anything close to formal. You're the type to say these sorts of events are way too superficial or some other junk to justify dropping cash on clothes."

 _She reads me like a book._ "You're… taking me dress shopping?"

"God, do you have to make it sound like we're headed to a prom or something? Yes. We're going 'dress shopping'." Marceline recoiled at her last couple of words.

Fidgeting with her hands, Bonnie looked downwards at the car's carpet, letting herself a little nervous smile. Something about the idea of Marceline taking her dress shopping had brought butterflies to the girl's stomach.

* * *

 _Can she pick a dress any slower?_

A half hour had passed when the girls found themselves standing inside one of the most extravagant clothing stores in Bathurst. Marceline paced back and forth across the store, boredom clouded her thoughts as she had been here a million times before. Bonnie, on the other hand, took her time examining every mannequin, running her hand across the linen and silk that each stature wore as mantles.

 _Has she never shopped for clothes or what?_

"Hurry up and pick one. We need to get started on this teaching thing tonight," Marceline said.

"How the… how am I meant to afford one of these?" Bonnie asked, rubbing the price tag of a particular blue gown. "The prices on these are way out of my league."

"I'll pay for it," Marceline stated bluntly, not noticing the look Bonnie had flashed her. "Now would you _please_ hurry up and pick something?"

A perplexed Bonnie opened her mouth, most likely wanting to argue against Marceline's charity, but the vice-president's impatient glare quickly decimated any chance of retort. Marceline must've traversed the length of the store at least a dozen times before Bonnie had finally picked out something. Marceline had only caught a glimpse of the girl's choice of dress, being able to discern only its color - a dark wine red.

 _I'm surprised it's not a super-hot pink…_

"For what occasion am I preparing ze' Mademoiselle for?" a feminine voice said. One of the store's clerk had pried themselves in between the two girls, noticing that Bonnie had made a selection. The blonde, middle-aged woman stood tall, a thick air of superiority surrounded her.

Marceline clicked her tongue as she said, "it's just for a night out-"

"The Bathurst Gala," Bonnie cut in.

"Ah, ze' Gala! Why did you not say so earlier? Excellent, my dear!"

A scowl took Marceline's expression. She knew how overly keen this particular store was on their higher-end clientele. Uttering the gala may have forced the pair more service than they needed.

"Keep the fitting quick, would you?" Marceline asked the clerk.

"Mademoiselle, I do not believe in 'quick fittings'," the clerk replied, pulling air quotes with her hands, "and especially not for a member of ze' Gala. When I am done with zis' girl, her beauty will be beyond measure! We'll need to 'ave a complete makeover on ze' face… mhmm, those shoes must go too, mon darling. Ah! I know ze' perfect hairstyle for those fiery locks of yours..."

 _Oh boy._

Bonnie turned to Marceline with a look that showed she had realized what she just committed herself to. Marceline shrugged with her hands.

 _You brought this on yourself, princess._

The clerk promptly pulled Bonnie into the fitting room before shutting the drapes behind them, Bonnie still having a plea of help written across her face. While waiting for her assistant to dress, Marceline plopped herself into the nearest chair before letting out a stress-filled groan. The Gala's date was near, yet she had so little time. What the hell was her father thinking? Surely he didn't expect her to win?

The chiming of a pentatonic scale caused Marceline to dig out her phone as she lazily held it in front of her. It was a text from Simon.

'How goes preparations?' the message read.

'Preparations are zilch,' Marceline typed back.

':(. Better start soon. The game is in two weeks.'

'Don't need you to remind me, Simon. Also, did you just use an emoji?'

'Why, yes I did. One of my younger clients introduced me.'

'Don't. Just don't. It really doesn't suit you.'

'Duly noted. I'm just messaging you to let you in on some news. Some of my more well-off clients have heard some spreading info; that this year, you're replacing your father.'

'People know already!?'

'It seems so. Your reputation precedes you as some companies are already preparing celebrations for a non-Abadeer champion this year.'

'Thanks, Simon. That's real reassuring.'

'No need for the sarcasm. I'm merely the messenger. What are you doing at the moment?'

 _Crap. What do I say? That I'm going dress shopping with Bonnie? God, no._

Marceline could only imagine the quips she would get from the white-haired psychiatrist.

'In my loft. Working on a new piano composition,' Marceline texted after a pause.

Simon's response was immediate.

'Really? If your definition of playing your piano is clothes shopping, then I _must_ get you a better dictionary.'

The fumbling of her fingers almost caused Marceline to drop her phone as she sat upright. She read Simon's text again. Then for a third time. It was only when she swiveled her head did Marceline actually see Simon, standing outside behind the store's windows, a cheeky grin on his face. He waved with his phone still in hand before entering the store, a small bell chimed as he did so.

Marceline sat still, as if paralyzed, her eyes pleading the question, 'how'd you know I was here?'.

"Mercy is hardly the most inconspicuous vehicle in Bathurst," Simon began. "I was in the neighborhood when I saw her parked just across the street. A couple of texts later, all I had to do was listen out for a particular pianistic ringtone, which just happened to be emanating from this store."

"You sure you're a psych and not Sherlock's cousin or something?"

The older man chuckled. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be under the tutorship of Ms. Beesley?"

"Yeah, about that. She's just-"

Before Marceline could finish, the noise of curtains being rustled and drawn caused both her and Simon to turn around.

"Voila!" the store clerk announced, pulling a very sheepish-looking Bonnibel out of the fitting room.

Marceline's knees suddenly became weak, her heart rate almost having tripled.

She looked flawless. The wine silken fabric nestled on Bonnie's body as if it had been tailored for her. The velvet folds hugged her figure, outlining her feminine curves, and the intense sanguine shades were bewitching against her ivory skin. The dress had a halter neckline which was embroidered with small roses that looked near organic. Midnight-black lacings matched the woman's eye shadow, and the garment's flowing skirt stopped midway above her knees, showing off her legs. Her hair had been tied up into a high bun, a deep red bow holding the ginger hair together as a couple loose strands fell to frame her face.

With her mouth wide open, Marceline looked back to Simon who had the grin of a Cheshire Cat. The psychiatrist shifted his gaze from Bonnie to Marceline before speaking in a low, amused voice. "So, this is what you've been up to."

"What-... I don't-... We're just-..."

Words escaped Marceline's tongue.

"I knew you were curious, but I didn't think it would extend _this_ far," Simon said with a chuckle. "I'd best be leaving you two to it then." With that, the older gentleman gave a quick nod in Bonnie's direction before setting foot outside the store, laughing to himself on his way out.

Marceline didn't notice Bonnie had stepped up right next to her. "Was that the shrink from my interview?" Bonnie asked.

With a stupefied expression still on her face, Marceline nodded slowly, desperation gripping her as she avoided looking in Bonnie's direction.

"What was he doing here?" Bonnie asked.

"He… was just in the neighborhood. Nothing special."

"Oh."

"Will ze' Madame be purchasing zis' garment?" the clerk interrupted.

With a shrug, Bonnie looked at Marceline. "Well?" she said before performing a little pirouette, the hem of the dress flourished as she did so. "Am I up to your standards?"

 _Say something, you twit._

"You look…" Marceline began, struggling to find her words.

 _Say anything._

"... just..."

 _ANYTHING._

"... fine. You look fine. It'll have to do," Marceline stated, doing her best to keep the tremors out of her voice. She dug into her back pocket, pulling out her bank card to which she tossed towards the clerk. "We'll take it."

"Oui, merci!" the clerk exclaimed enthusiastically. The woman hurried off to the front of the store with Marceline's card in hand.

A very disheartened looking Bonnibel slumped her shoulders, her eyes were downcast as she mumbled something out of earshot. Marceline's chest filled with remorse as she noticed the woman's expression. She was torturing herself, not finding the bravery to pay the copper-headed girl a single compliment.

"Now hurry up and take that off. Bring my card with you when you're done. I'll be in the car," Marceline stated, turning her heels so quickly that Bonnie didn't even have a chance to reply.

Bursting out the front door, Marceline trotted down the street, her heart still pounded in her ears when she sat down in Mercy's front seat. She threw her head back into the black leather headrest, squeezing her eyes shut as she contemplated what she was thinking only moments ago.

 _She's your friend. Your childhood friend. Nothing more._

A frustrated moan left Marceline's lips as she pulled at the roots of her hair with her hands. Bonnie was her friend. She couldn't be more. She _couldn't_. Thinking about her in… _that_ way was wrong on too many levels. Marceline buried her face in the palms of her hands, her pulse showed no signs of slowing down.

"It's just… it's just a passing fancy…" she whispered to herself.

But the issue was, Marceline found it hard to even believe her own words.

* * *

 **A/N: Oh boy. A little more backstory and semi-fluff this chapter. Thanks Panda for the beta ^^**


	11. Chapter 11

_I don't own Adventure Time._

 **Chapter 11**

 _29th February 2016_

 _Stop staring at her legs. Stop it right now. Look away. What's wrong with you?_

"Are you feeling okay? You seem distracted," Bonnie said, pacing in front of Marceline's enormous window.

 _Shit. Busted._

"I'm fine. Was just wondering how that big brain of yours can fit inside such a small head," Marceline said. Her fingers ached. The pencil she held had already been worn down to a blunt nib. She never once thought that she'd have to relive _this_ hell again. The hell of study. If there was anything Marceline disliked more than Nighto or her father, it was being forced to learn things she couldn't care less about.

Econometrics, auto regressions, vector theory, Markov chains - a bunch of convoluted gibberish, all of which she had to cram in her skull before the Gala. Studying was a splinter in her brain - a permanent one where the pain rivaled that of a summer Saturday hangover. There was just too much. Too much to learn, to read, to write. How did Bonnie even expect her to understand all this? Sure, math may have come to her like rain to a river, but Marceline didn't attend a prestigious academic slave house. Heck, she couldn't even remember the last time she picked up a book.

"I see," Bonnie said. She glanced briefly at Marceline, creasing a sheet of paper between her fingers. "Well, try and think about those exercises in front of you and not my head, will you?"

"Sure, princess. Whatever you want," Marceline replied in an overly sarcastic tone.

The couch was stiff as a board. Marceline remembered picking the thing out of an online catalog, never intending to actually use the damn thing. The color was what mattered. The sanguine red of the velvet was a constant reminder of her condition and to her needs.

Marceline gave her sixth attempt at absorbing what a 'Jacobian matrix' was before she found her eyes wandering off again. Wandering off to… _her._ Whoever invented pencil skirts didn't understand the torment Marceline was experiencing right now.

"By the way, what did I do to warrant such a nickname?" Bonnie asked, her pacing coming to an abrupt stop.

Marceline quickly directed her gaze back down. "What?"

"Princess. You keep calling me that," Bonnie said, her brow creased.

Marceline shrugged, beginning to scribble on the sheet of paper she held firmly. "It just suits you."

 _And it's what I called you when we were little…_

Admittedly, the pain of being unable to reveal a floodgate of memories to the girl in front of her was more tormentous than the study.

Bonnie raised a brow before resuming her steps, offering a new pencil to Marceline whilst the latter racked her brain around the concept of expected values. It wasn't long before she finally snapped, scrunching the paper in her hands into a rumple, tossing it over the couch along with the pencil she had just received. With a huff, she dropped her back down onto the stone-like couch, propping her legs up onto the armrest before crossing her arms.

"This is hopeless," Marceline began, staring at the ceiling. "There's no _freaking_ way I'm going to learn all this."

"You haven't tried learning at all," Bonnie said with a sigh. She walked behind the couch, leaning over the thing to meet Marceline's upside-down face.

"Are you kidding me? What do you think I've been doing for the past five hours? For the past week!?"

"I'm not entirely sure. I didn't want to bring this up, but it looks like I have to," Bonnie said, looking over her shoulder to see that the wad of paper had landed only a few feet away. "There's something... distracting you. I don't know what it is but that's just the vice I'm getting. Why is study so difficult for you?"

 _It's because I can't stop staring at you, you pretty dork._

"Nothing. It's just that... we've been going at this for over a week now and I feel like… I feel like I've learned nothing," Marceline said, resting her eyes shut. "And I don't think I can learn any of this in time before the Gala."

Marceline's head involuntarily dipped lower into the couch, causing her to open her eyes. Her pupils dilated to the size of marbles as her gaze was met with Bonnie's again, except this time she had moved and was sitting mere inches from her head. The assistant looked down at her boss before unfolding the wad of paper she held, straightening out the creases with the palm of her hand.

"You know, you still haven't told me," Bonnie said.

"Told you what?" Marceline asked, doing her best to not think about how close the two were. Christ, if she moved up a bit, her head would be right in Bonnie's lap.

"Why you want to win this thing," she said. "I mean... you're definitely not the most competitive person I know, so it's nothing to do with pride. Plus, Nighto's reputation seems to be the least of your concerns. So, why? What makes you want to win this so much?"

 _Crap._

There was no way Marceline could tell her. No way that she would say that the only reason she wanted to win this stupid thing was to protect Bonnie. To protect her from Marceline's father. To prevent him from ruining what little precious time they could have together. No. It'd been too long since she'd seen Bonnibel. She wouldn't be able to withstand another seven-year lapse in contact. What could she say? She's doing this because she wants to? What a load of bull.

"I'm doing this because I want to," Marceline said. She wanted to slap herself for uttering such a childish response. "What more reason do you want from me?" Her tone was sharp.

Placing the now-flat sheet of paper on the coffee table, Bonnie turned her attention back to Marceline. She looked into the other woman's eyes for an uncomfortably long period of time with an unconvinced look on her face.

"Fine. If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to. I just thought that if I had to bow to your every whim with your stupid _rules_ , you'd at least have the decency to tell me your reasons for using up both our time."

 _God damnit. Was she always this good at making me feel guilty..?_

Marceline could only fiddle with the ends of her hair as her assistant sat patiently, waiting for the response that she wouldn't get. A few moments had passed before Bonnie sighed, showing that she'd given up digging into Marceline's motives. The girl picked up the sheet of paper on the coffee table, scanning the notes Marceline had written with darting eyes. A sharp 'tsk' left her lips.

"You know," Bonnie began, sinking into the couch a little, "an expected value is the sum of all possible values multiplied by their probability of occurrence. It isn't..." - she placed a finger onto the 'art' on the paper - "... _this._ "

Indeed, an expected value was not a less than flattering drawing of Bonnie being depicted as a war-like dictator. The only indication that made the crude stick figure on the paper resemble Bonnibel was the hastily scrawn speech bubble that read, 'I'm a smarty-farty from Blackwell.' It was too bad. Marceline had forgotten to etch in the stink lines.

"Meh, I like my definition better," Marceline said, closing her eyes with a proud smile.

"Ugh," Bonnie said with a puff of air. "It's obvious we need a break. It's almost morning."

"Now that's something I can agree with," Marceline replied. It had been hours since she'd woken, and she hadn't had breakfast. Unfortunately, vampirism didn't completely abolish human needs.

"I want to do a little something. A surprise, actually," Bonnie said, uncrossing her legs to sit up.

Marceline's head bounced on the couch as Bonnie got up. She picked her head up somewhat, her interest aroused as to whatever surprise Bonnie had in mind. Judging by her assistant's usual clement demeanor, Marceline didn't expect much from the mild-mannered girl.

 _A surprise? Hmph. What could it be… Another textbook? A set of sharpened pencils?_

Tilting her head to the side, Marceline watched as Bonnie walked over to the kitchen. The girl unzipped the bag on the countertop to pull out several plastic containers, each neatly stacked on top of each other. Inside each of them was a myriad of colors. Squinting slightly, Marceline discerned that the colors belonged to an arrangement of foods.

"Mind if I use your kitchen?" Bonnie asked.

Sluggishly sitting upright, Marceline paused for a moment as she considered the peculiar request.

"What happens if I say no?" Marceline asked, a finger resting on her chin.

"Then I guess I wouldn't be able to cook something for us."

"Wait," Marceline said, raising a finger. "You want to use _my_ kitchen… to cook something?"

With a slow nod of her head, Bonnie looked at Marceline with an amused expression.

"For _both_ of us?" Marceline continued.

"Yep. You say that like that's a bad thing."

"No, it's not that. It's just… I've never had anyone cook for me before."

"Funny. I thought you'd have a dozen servants groveling at your feet trying to serve you when you walk into restaurants," Bonnie said with a shrug. Marceline's eye twitched as she was about to spit an agitated retort until Bonnie let loose a small laugh. "I'm kidding. There's a first time for everything, I suppose," she said.

Without pause, she popped open the lids of the containers. Despite the kitchen being more than twenty feet away, Marceline could smell every ingredient on the kitchen countertop. There was the piquant fire-like smell of red pepper flakes alongside the ambrosial odor of freshly picked parsley. There was also a vivid odor that was characteristic of nothing other than peeled lemon zest. Marceline didn't want to sit up but her hunger overpowered her voluntary movements, forcing her to rub her eyes and walk in a trance-like state towards the kitchen.

She herself didn't know much about cooking, but Marceline definitely couldn't say the same about Bonnie. Several cupboards were already laid bare when Marceline had reached the kitchen. There was the sound of water rushing from the faucet into a stainless steel pot whilst Bonnie had procured a wooden cutting board out from under the kitchen countertop. The stove's igniter crackled, birthing a blue flame to which Bonnie lightly placed the pot of water on. Marceline could only watch, hypnotized by her assistant's movements as she pulled out a seat to the kitchen island.

Out of her bag, Bonnie pulled out a burgundy-colored apron as well as a knife that was covered in a wooden sheath. She quickly donned the apron before pushing up the sides of her hair, bunning it up into a ponytail. Bonnie smiled as her eyes met Marceline's as the latter turned away, heat forming on the Abadeer's cheeks. Grasping its handle, Bonnie slid the knife out of its wooden sheath. The blade was shinier than any gem Marceline could think of. Silver swirls embellished the blade's entire length as if clouds had been imbued into the folds of the steel itself.

"That," Marceline said, pointing to the knife, "looks really expensive."

"It is. It's pure Damascus," Bonnie said, examining the knife. "At least that's what the salesman told me."

"I didn't think you'd be one to spoil yourself."

Bonnie examined the blade's edge, turning it over as she ran a fingertip down its spine. "I'm not. I bought this for my uncle, but I can't help but use it at least once."

"Wait, you haven't used it yet?" Marceline asked, leaning over the countertop.

"Nope. Every chef knows the first time using a new knife has to be memorable," Bonnie said. "Special, even."

"What's so special about right now?"

"Because…" Bonnie said, placing a handful of parsley onto the cutting board, "... I'm cooking for _you_."

It felt as if Marceline's stomach had done a front flip. "What?"

"If you hadn't given me this new job, I wouldn't have been able to afford this. So, it's only fitting that you share in its creations."

 _Oh._

For a second, Marceline had thought-

"Pass me that box with the spaghetti, would you?" Bonnie said.

The boredom of the night had lifted somewhat. If she wasn't filling her head with math and calculus, Marceline was fine with anything. Except, she would never have thought she'd be handing Bonnie a wad of spaghetti whilst the latter cooked in her kitchen. It felt much too surreal.

Strands of spaghetti fell gently to the bottom of the stainless steel pot as the boiling water absorbed their stiffness. A waft of parsley-sewn air traveled under Marceline's nose as Bonnie sliced through the herb with ease. It was hard to imagine. Imagine that Bonnie and she would be in this moment. Her, cooking for the two of them whilst Marceline sat, starry-eyed, unable to take her gaze off her assistant. If only every moment in her life would be like this.

When Bonnie placed a new ingredient under the knife, however, a monstrously familiar odor plagued Marceline's senses. Its sour bitterness caused her eyes to water as she wrinkled her nose. Bonnie must've noticed her boss' expression.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Marceline retched as she covered her nose and mouth with her hands. "Is that…" - she dry-heaved once - "Is that _garlic_?"

The rhythmic percussion of Bonnie's cutting stopped. "Don't tell me you've got an allergy to garlic, too."

"Mhmm," Marceline murmured, still pinching her nose.

Without pause, Bonnie swept up the bulbs of garlic. She flung them into one of the plastic containers, sealing the lid shut before any more garlic particles could disperse themselves through the air. "That's… I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

Tears had already formed in Marceline's lashes, her vision becoming blurry from the moisture. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just-"

Another helpless cough left Marceline's throat. Bonnie hurriedly reached for a tissue, offering it to Marceline. The woman declined the gesture as she rubbed the tears out of her eyes, stroking the base of her neck as she did so.

"It's nothing. Nothing serious. I'm just glad you didn't make me eat that. I can't imagine putting that in my mouth," Marceline said, still rubbing her eyes.

"You're saying you've never tasted garlic?"

"I did once when I was little - throat closed up pretty bad," Marceline said, inhaling the surrounding air slowly. "Since then, I've had none."

"No garlic bread?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Garlic prawns?"

"If it's got the word 'garlic' in it, I haven't had it, princess."

"Yogurt soup?"

"Ew. I don't know what that is, but it sounds gross already."

"Yeesh, photosensitive _and_ an allergy to garlic. You know what you're starting to sound like?"

"What?" Marceline asked, a small smirk played on her lips.

"... Nothing. Don't worry. I was thinking something stupid."

"What else is new?"

"Hah hah. Real funny."

After a heated discussion of whether or not spaghetti classified as a pasta, the food was finally ready. Pulling up a seat next to Marceline, Bonnie had this weird giddy look about her as she set down two full plates along with a set of forks. The smell was amazing. It had been too long since Marceline had an actual meal as opposed to just draining the red out of a week-old apple or a punnet of strawberries - a combination of laziness and lack of ability to cook being the main causes.

"It's angel-hair pasta with red flakes, parsley, and shallots," Bonnie said. "I'm not sure how this would taste without the garlic." She picked at the plate with an unsure look.

'I'm sure it's perfectly fine,' Marceline wanted to say. Even if the food did taste like horse-dribble, Marceline wouldn't have the heart to say anything about it. Heck, she'd stomach the whole plate just to not hurt Bonnie's feelings. Noticing her assistant was just staring at her - presumably waiting for her to go first - Marceline raised her spaghetti-twirled fork and took a small delicate bite.

To say the food was delicious would've been a gross understatement.

It was weird. There was no explosion of flavor or an overpowering amalgam of different tastes. It wasn't like the food served from overrated restaurants her dad used to take her to either. It was smooth, elegant and mild. Yet, for some reason, Marceline thought she'd never tasted anything better.

"How is it?" Bonnie asked, having not touched her own plate.

"It's good," Marceline simply put. She felt as if her statement didn't do the meal justice.

A look of relief blessed Bonnie's features as her shoulders visibly laxed. "That's nice to hear," she said.

The pair ate in silence with Bonnie only asking the occasional question about Marceline's problem with garlic. Little did she know, it wasn't really an allergy but rather a weakness. Garlic was revolting. It clouded every one of Marceline's senses. It blocked sight, smell and touch as her father had so kindly shown her when she was little. The effects lasted for hours. Thankfully, Bonnie had thrown the venomous cloves away before they lingered in the air for any longer.

With both their plates empty, Bonnie had begun taking them away, until she stopped abruptly. "You've got a little bit…" she said, facing Marceline as she gestured to her chin with a finger.

"What? My chin too small for you?"

"No, no, you've just got some… Ah. Here, I'll get it," Bonnie said. She brought her hand up close to Marceline's chin.

Although startled, Marceline didn't find herself pulling away from the redhead's reach. Instead, she almost found herself leaning in. Bonnie's hand was soft to the touch as it cupped Marceline's chin. Her thumb made a massaging motion, rubbing what felt like remnants of spaghetti sauce off of Marceline's jaw. As she pulled her hand away, it looked as if Bonnie was considering to lick the sauce off her hand, but instead wiped it off on a tea towel.

An uneasy silence followed. Marceline was processing what had just happened. Was that the first time they'd touched since seeing each other again?

 _Wow, why would you even think that? You're so freakin' corny._

"So where'd you learn to cook like that?" Marceline stammered out. It was obvious what she was trying to do - changing the topic.

Intentional or not, Bonnie followed along. "When you've got a bunch of free time, you have to fill it with something. Given that my uncle used to be a chef, I think it's only natural that I picked up cooking as a hobby." She said it as if it were obvious. "What about you?"

"What about me?" Marceline responded.

"Seeing as you probably stay indoors all the time and that you barely do any work, the vice-president of Nighto must occupy herself with _something_."

A blank stare was Marceline's response. It was true. Hours of the day didn't just pass by in the blink of an eye, although that would've been a nice vampiric feature. Her time had to be sunk somewhere - it just so happened to be into her precious piano.

"Well?" Bonnie asked. "If you're not going to tell me why you want to win the Gala, you could at least share with me what you do up here by yourself every night…"

 _Heh, wouldn't you like to know, princess._

"Do you really want to know?" Marceline asked.

"I doubt you want to hit the books again anytime soon. So yes - please enlighten me."

Marceline breathed a sigh. She was reluctant to show Bonnie. To show her one of the few things she uses to keep herself occupied - to keep herself sane. When they were little, this situation would never have even arisen. She would share with Bonnie the warmth, rhythm, and emotion of her piano as the two would spend hours on some afternoons talking with one another.

"If you insist," Marceline said, standing up before walking across the kitchen. "Follow me."

* * *

 _Was I really going to say that?_

As she followed Marceline to the back of the loft, Bonnie wanted to laugh at herself. Photodermatitis and a garlic allergy did not automatically make someone a blood-sucking corpse of the night.

Vampires didn't exist. They were just gimmicks of European folklore used to scare children.

A whole night of teaching must've been getting to her head. Even though she could withstand hours of study on end, Bonnibel herself was human and had a limit to her brain's willpower. She was extremely thankful Marceline had agreed to a break. Cooking wasn't just an art to Bonnie. It was a way of release - a therapeutic escape that let her get into a rhythm that was almost impossible to shatter. It was a shame she had to substitute garlic with shallots in her aglio'e'olio, however. She didn't expect her boss to be so fragile. The hard-ass reputation Marceline had notoriously received was beginning to deteriorate from Bonnie's perspective. Fragile, as she may be, her skin was unnaturally cold when Bonnie had wiped the sauce off her face.

 _I still can't believe she let me do that…_

From an outside point-of-view and the way Bonnie cupped Marceline's chin, it looked as if she was about to-

"Ahem," Marceline coughed. "You alright there, dweeb?"

Snapping back to reality, Bonnie crossed her arms. "No, I was not that thinking about _that_."

"Uh… thinking about what?" Marceline asked, a confused look on her face.

"Oh… um… nothing," Bonnie quickly said, turning to hide her pinked cheeks.

"You are _super_ weird sometimes." Marceline had stopped in front of a door, her hand placed on the ornate handle. She sighed. "Before I show you this, you have to promise to never, ever, _ever,_ tell anyone else about this."

"Geez, you make it sound as if you're a serial killer showing me your victims."

"Huh? No, those are downstairs." A sunken look came over Bonnie. Marceline waited a few moments before giving a wry smile. "I'm _joking_. Calm your farm. Seriously, though - promise me you'll never say a word about this to anyone."

Bonnie raised her right hand and held out her left on top of an imaginary book. "I, Bonnibel Beesley, solemnly swear to never reveal whatever secrets, mysteries, or enigmas that lay behind-"

"Alright, alright, that's enough," Marceline said, rolling her eyes. "I'm just saying, I don't want word getting out about this."

"Whatever you do in your spare time is your business. I won't tell anyone."

After a small sigh, Marceline gripped the doors handle firmly, pulling it down to reveal the other side. A rush of cool air met Bonnie's skin as the pair walked through to the other side. The room was filled with complete darkness until Marceline flicked a switch on the nearby wall. Light flooded the room causing Bonnie to wince as she brought a hand to her eyes. As her vision finally settled, what she saw was nothing short of jaw-dropping.

The room was huge. The high-ceiling cast a stage lighting across the room that gave the hardwood floor a sheen finish. The walls were covered entirely in a dark foam in the shape of pyramids - acoustic panels and bass traps, a common method for soundproofing. A few feet nearby was a desk with more tech than Bonnie had ever seen, and this was including Finn and Jake's office. The equipment looked like that found in professional recording studios where the number of knobs and wires resembled the control panel of a nuclear power plant. The most prominent piece in the room, however, wasn't the electronics or the obviously expensive interior design. The thing that stood out the most was…

"Is that… a piano?" Bonnie asked incredulously. Her question was rhetorical, but she couldn't help but ask it.

A snort was the response she got. "Duh, I thought Blackwell would teach you what a piano looked like," Marceline said, walking over to the pristine-looking instrument.

Years of watching and listening to pianists perform had allowed Bonnie to recognize the maker of Marceline's piano instantly.

"It's a Bösendorfer," Bonnie said, placing a hand on the piano's fallboard. "I thought they stopped shipping these to places like Bathurst. How did you make them send one here?"

"I didn't buy it if that's what you're asking," Marceline said, seating herself on the piano's black leather stool.

"Huh? Then how'd you get it?"

Silence followed Bonnie's question. She didn't notice it at first, but when she saw Marceline bite her bottom lip to the point where it had broken skin did she realize she'd struck a nerve.

"It's my mother's," Marceline muttered, breaking the silence. Her head was downcast as she tapped her fingers against the piano's glossy surface. "I inherited it."

It took Bonnie a few moments before she actually understood Marceline's words. The realization caused her to bring a hand to her mouth. Before she could mutter an apology, however, Marceline had flipped open the piano's fallboard, revealing a perfectly aligned riverbed of ebony and glowing white keys.

"I don't want to hear some half-assed apology if that's what you're going to say," she said matter-of-factly.

Awkwardness ensued as Bonnie stood with her mouth shut. Over the past couple weeks, Marceline had openly expressed her dislike toward her father - but, she had never mentioned a word about her mother. Bonnie had felt inclined to ask at times but decided to keep her lips closed. Good thing she did.

"Are you just gonna stand there?" Marceline asked, breaking Bonnie's train of thought.

Shifting her head around, Bonnie didn't understand Marceline's question. Judging by the woman's posture - her foot was placed on the sustain pedal whilst her fingers were elegantly poised above the keys - it looked like she was about to play.

"You're going to _play_ something?" Bonnie asked.

Marceline rolled her eyes again. "This is what you wanted to see, wasn't it? What I do when I'm alone?"

Confusion still on her face, a slow nod was all the response Bonnie could give.

"Well then hurry up and sit down," Marceline said, nodding her head at the empty space beside her.

Doing as she was told, Bonnie quickly shuffled over to the piano stool, taking a seat next to the vice-president who began to look regretful of her words. Out of her peripheral vision, Bonnie swore the woman had a smile on her face but upon looking up, there was only a stern expression there. A few feet away, Bonnie could spot a microphone atop a stand - pop filter and all. Immediately, a thought entered her head.

"Wait… that microphone. Back when you dropped me off after the interview and there was that music from your stereo. That wasn't _you_ playing...was it?"

Marceline froze for the briefest of moments before shrugging. "I forget," she said.

Her lie wasn't fooling anyone as Bonnibel smiled warmly, knowing fully well that her boss was the pianist that she had spent a whole evening trying to identify.

A few seconds later, Marceline began to play.

A beautiful tone flooded the room. The sound was like that of the jingles of sleigh bells on a snowy Christmas morning. There was a melancholic sadness within the notes that seeped into Bonnie's skin and spread like wildfire through her veins. The piano sounded as divine as it looked, prompting Bonnie to sit completely still, afraid that any sudden movement would prompt Marceline to stop her performance. The black spruce-wood had been sent to life by Marceline's slender fingers. Her eyes were shut as she continued her slow finger-dance across the ivory-white and charcoal-black keys.

 _Wow..._

No breath left Bonnie's mouth as she stared, awestruck at what she was witnessing. She knew the piece. She knew it was one of Chopin's etudes but for the life of her, she couldn't remember which one it was. Bonnie found herself unable to look away from Marceline - the girl's expression was undeniably bewitching.

 _She looks so…_

'Focused' was not the right word. Rumors of the vice-president being a lazy lay about had all been banished from Bonnie's mind. Some of the keys on the piano's lower octaves were stained an ever-so subdued red, leading Bonnie to believe that the bruises she often spotted on Marceline's fingertips weren't an accident. The woman beside her emitted an aura that was completely opposite to the one Bonnie was explaining number theory to a mere hour ago.

However, something about the whole situation bugged Bonnie.

Something about the fact that here she was, listening to Marceline play music that flowed through the air like an eagle in an up-draft.

She couldn't shake the feeling.

Something about it _all_ seemed much too…

… _familiar_.

What was it?

Was it the music? The setting? Was it...

Unfortunately, Bonnie was much too exhausted to delve into the thought any further. She almost found herself being lulled to sleep by the entrancing music. Her head almost rested on Marceline's shoulder before she shocked herself back upright, stealing a glance at Marceline, making sure she didn't notice her little blunder.

As Marceline played the final chord to the piece, she turned slowly, meeting Bonnie's gaze. Each passing moment was a drip in the well of tension that seemed to exist between the pair.

"I wish you'd learn math like that," Bonnie said bluntly.

A huff of air left Marceline's lips as she gripped the leather of the stool's cushion, a small smile gracing her features.

"I could if it wasn't boring as shit," Marceline replied.

Another smile made its way onto Bonnie's face. "Got any more surprises for me?" she said.

There was a soft thump sound as Marceline closed the piano's fallboard. She looked back at Bonnie with a smug smile.

"Nothing that you should know."

* * *

 **A/N: Smh, this took me almost two months. More to come (and unlikely to take as long as this one did).**


End file.
